Chaos Theory
by half agony and hope
Summary: "The last of the sun's rays disappear from the window, bathing Jane and Lisbon in half-light. She scrutinizes him, trying to read him, but he shuts her out - the very last thing he needs right now is for Lisbon to know what he's truly thinking. He loves her. And the only reason he knows is because Red John figured it out first." A variation on Strawberries and Cream.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Okay, so I admit it. I spent a great deal of time in one of my classes this semester plotting out this story: when the instructor brought up a concept called "chaos theory," I couldn't help but apply it to Jane and Lisbon. Alas, the problems of being a fangirl.**

 **This story begins during Jane's confrontation with Timothy Carter in "Strawberries and Cream," and - as per usual with my stories - it quickly deviates to become AU. In fact, I want to stress this point, since an infinitesimally small reaction from Jane at the very beginning of this story precipitates a major divergence from canon. This fic has quickly become my favorite multichapter out of the ones that I've written, and I hope you enjoy it as well.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.**

* * *

(chaos theory):

sensitivity to initial conditions, allowing for great disturbances to arise from seemingly small occurrences

* * *

 _"Your life is precious, Patrick. Get on with that precious life. Find yourself a woman to love—start a family."_

Jane hesitates for a millisecond.

Red John smiles, arching one eyebrow in surprise as he takes in Jane's expression.

"Oh," he says, clearly amused, and his grin is smug. "My mistake. You've already found one."

Jane feels a bead of sweat roll down the curve of his back. He says nothing.

Eager shoppers bustle around them like swarming bees.

Red John continues to scrutinize him, and he moves the gun hidden in the newspaper an inch closer to Jane. "Your woman—that was her on the phone, am I correct?"

Jane suddenly cannot remember how to keep his emotions in check, and he feels them flash across his face, one after the other. Anxiety, fear, disbelief, panic.

Red John smiles again.

"Ah, yes, of course. Agent Lisbon." His feigned cheerfulness suddenly disappears, replaced with feigned concern. "She sounded like she was in a great deal of pain, Patrick. Whatever are you doing here speaking with me when you should be rushing to her side?" He doesn't wait for an answer before continuing. "I'll make you a deal: run along to her now, and I won't shoot you."

"I don't feel that way about Lisbon," says Jane, a few seconds too late, and it comes out sounding like he's trying to convince _himself_ rather than the man sitting opposite him.

"Of course not," says Red John, his tone more than patronizing, and Jane grips the gun in his suit pocket, his finger resting on the trigger.

 _How likely is it that Red John will kill me before I can even draw the weapon?_

Red John watches Jane calculate with interest.

 _Very likely_ , Jane concludes. _I'll be dead before I get a chance to shoot._

A woman walks past them with a stroller, pushing her two children along.

Red John's eyes narrow as though something has just occurred to him.

"You didn't know, did you?" he asks.

"Know what?" says Jane automatically.

The corner of Red John's mouth curls up slightly. "You didn't realize you were in love with her until I pointed it out."

There's a beat of silence.

"I will kill you," Jane says finally, and he feels every muscle in his body tense as he restrains himself from lashing out at the man across from him. It takes an enormous amount of effort simply to keep his voice even. He succeeds.

Barely.

Red John's hand shifts on his gun. Jane tracks the movement out of the corner of his eye, intent on holding Red John's gaze.

"I doubt that, but I admire your tenacity, Patrick." He checks his watch with a sigh, clearly bored. "You have fifteen seconds to get up and walk away before I pull this trigger."

Jane hears the unmistakable sound of the weapon being cocked. He stands up slowly, though every part of him screams not to, and his body literally shakes with the effort to remain in control. He makes to turn away.

"Patrick."

Jane turns back around.

"I'm glad we had this chance to talk. It was…" Red John pauses, smiling at Jane as though they'd just concluded a productive business meeting. "It was illuminating."

Jane's eyes flash down to the gun still trained on him. Then he thinks of Lisbon, and he walks away.

* * *

Jane pulls into the emergency room parking lot, circling around for a couple minutes before finding a spot. He pulls the gun out of his pocket and stares at it.

He is overwhelmed by the need to get the gun as far away as possible, and for a few seconds he debates tossing it into the nearest garbage bin. Then he thinks about Red John's last words to him, and he stows the gun in the glove compartment.

He takes a deep breath before getting out of the car.

* * *

Cho is there to greet him when he finally locates Lisbon's room.

"You look like hell. What happened?"

But Jane barely hears him.

Lisbon is lying in bed, asleep for the moment, her hair disheveled and her face too pale. The glow from the sinking sun outside casts the room in an eerie light, and Jane concentrates on the reassuring beeping coming from her heart monitor.

"Jane?" asks Cho again, standing up from the chair by the window and moving over to him.

"Nothing," Jane lies smoothly. "Bertram left, and then so did I." He finally looks at Cho, and he can't tell from Cho's expression whether or not the lie was successful. "How is Lisbon doing?"

Cho crosses his arms over his chest and shifts his weight, as though planting his feet more firmly on the ground. "The bullet missed every major organ. She'll be up and moving in a couple of days."

Jane nods, knowing from Cho's tone that it could have been much worse. "Is Grace alright? And Madeline and her kids?"

He watches Lisbon breathe deeply in her sleep as Cho answers.

"Madeline and her children are fine. Van Pelt shot O'Laughlin."

Jane looks over at Cho, surprised. "So—not alright," Jane says quietly.

"Basically." Cho sighs. "She's still being questioned. Rigsby went with her." He steps around Jane. "Listen, I'm going to get coffee. You want anything?"

Jane shakes his head, his attention once again held by Lisbon. "No," he says softly. Cho disappears noiselessly from the room.

For nearly a minute, Jane doesn't move, rooted to his spot by the door, concentrating on the steady rise and fall of Lisbon's chest. Then he forces himself to step forward, and he's suddenly by her side.

He looks down at her and nearly feels his heart stop all over again.

For a few seconds today, he'd thought she was dead. He'd been preparing himself to add her name to the list of people he planned to avenge.

But she's still in front of him. Still breathing.

She shivers slightly in her sleep, and Jane reaches out to pull the blankets up over her chest. His fingers nearly brush the line of her jaw, and he freezes.

The ebony of her hair stands out against the ivory of her skin.

 _She's beautiful_ , Jane finally admits to himself.

And suddenly, he feels like the wind has been knocked out of him—but it's not at all painful. Rather, it's a pleasant kind of breathlessness, and it's addicting and intoxicating and mesmerizing all at once. And then Jane realizes what exactly it is he's feeling.

He's in love.

He can't help the slight breath that escapes him, and he smiles broadly. She's so beautiful, so strong, so _good_ —and he wants nothing more than to tell her exactly how he feels.

His fingers brush against her jaw.

The touch jars him back to reality, and suddenly he's all too aware of her heart monitor and the sounds of the bustling hospital outside her door.

And he realizes he can never tell her. Lisbon can never know how he feels.

 _Anyone who gets close to me—bad things happen to them._

The smile fades from his face, and it is at this exact moment that Lisbon wakes up.

She blinks at him and groans, rubbing her eyes with her good arm. "Jane?"

Jane sits down on the side of her bed, careful not to touch her. "I'm here," he says.

Her eyes focus on him, and a crinkle appears in the middle of her forehead—an expression cluing him into the fact that she's worried about him. "Jane," she says, reaching for him. "What's wrong?"

He grabs her hand between both of his and smiles sadly at her.

He nearly says "nothing" but knows she won't believe him.

"You were shot," he says quietly.

She scrutinizes him, trying to read him, but he shuts her out. The very last thing he needs right now is for Lisbon to know what he's truly thinking.

He loves her.

And the only reason he knows is because Red John figured it out first.

The last of the sun's rays disappear from the window, bathing Jane and Lisbon in half-light.

His actions today put Lisbon in danger in more ways than one, he realizes. He's written crosshairs on her back twice over.

"I need to be more careful," Jane says finally.

Lisbon chuckles. "I've been telling you that from the beginning," she says.

He shakes his head. "No—I need to be more careful with _you_."

Lisbon's smile fades. "Oh."

She looks at him curiously, but before she can ask for clarification, he pulls away, moving across the room. Their hands hang in the air for a millisecond, reaching for each other but not touching.

Then he turns toward the window, wondering how exactly it is possible that falling in love has broken his heart.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Thank you all for the great response to the first chapter - reading your reviews helped get me through finals week! And since today is officially the last day of my first year in grad school, I want to celebrate by posting a new chapter. Here's to summer!**

* * *

He drives her home from the hospital two days later.

She fumbles with her good arm for the keys to her apartment as they stand outside her door, and Jane is preoccupied by the formation of freckles on the side of her neck.

The door swings inward.

Lisbon turns to him, but Jane knows she is about to ask him inside, so he cuts her off. "See you later, Lisbon," he says, brushing his shoulder against hers lightly.

If she'd actually gotten the words out, he couldn't have refused her.

But right now he needs to focus on distancing himself from Lisbon, so he heads back to his car alone, pretending he doesn't notice the slightly pained expression on her face as he walks away.

* * *

His resolve to keep his distance lasts all of three days.

She opens the door to her apartment with a surprised look in her eyes, and Jane holds up a bag of Thai takeout. "You hungry?" he asks.

Lisbon smiles at him and steps aside to let him pass. "You know me so well," she says, closing the door behind her.

Jane heads into her kitchen and begins to set the containers out on the counter. "I figured you wouldn't be feeling up to cooking," he says, ignoring the fact that she's managed to feed herself without his help since she's been home from the hospital. He looks up to meet her eyes for the first time in days.

She leans her hip against the counter and holds his gaze. "Thank you."

Jane nods, and his hands still. "You look…better," he says. "How are you feeling?" He moves to grab plates and silverware.

Lisbon brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. "It's a process," she admits, gesturing to her sling. "I'm told physical therapy will help a lot, but…"

"It'll take some time," says Jane quietly, and he sets the plates down on the counter with more force than he'd intended. The sound echoes between them. "Don't get ahead of yourself," he adds, dumping the contents of the containers onto the plates.

She nods. "Easier said than done."

He hands her a plate of noodles. "Dinner is served, my dear."

His insides twist in a pleasant knot at the blush that creeps up her neck in response to the endearment, and they move to the kitchen table, where they eat mostly in silence.

Finally, when both of them have nearly cleared their plates, she looks up at him. Jane catches her eye, and he wonders how he didn't spend the last few years drowning in her bright green gaze.

"Are you alright?" she asks hesitantly. "Ever since you saw me at the hospital, you've seemed…distant."

 _And for good reason_ , he thinks. But he cannot tell her this.

He sighs, pushing his plate away.

"The way things went down," he begins, glancing down at his hands on the table. "It just left me with a bitter aftertaste. Like the feeling you get when you bite your tongue and taste blood." He taps his fingers against the table, and he knows the frustration is clear on his face. "I have a bad feeling about it all."

Lisbon shifts to lean her good forearm against the table. "Me, too," she whispers, and Jane looks back up at her, surprised.

"What do you mean?" he asks.

Lisbon gives a one-shouldered shrug. "I'm not sure," she admits. "It just feels like…like the stage is being set or something. We took out one of Red John's deputies. There's no way there won't be consequences for that."

The way she says this makes Jane want to add several locks to her front door, though he knows this won't do much good.

"Jane," Lisbon says softly, and he has to stop himself from reaching over to take her hand. "I know I can't convince you to abandon that motel of yours, but…could you check in with me every so often? Just a text even."

Jane smiles wryly. "You worry too much, Lisbon."

"If you texted me, I'd worry less."

There is a severity in her eyes that Jane cannot take lightly.

He smiles again, this time softer and more genuine.

"Anything for you, Lisbon."

* * *

True to his word, he texts Lisbon the moment he shuts the door to his motel room.

 _The door is dead-bolted. Don't worry so much._

Her reply comes two minutes later, just as he's reaching for his toothbrush to begin getting ready for bed.

 _I can't help it._

Typical Lisbon. Jane rolls his eyes as his phone buzzes again.

 _Thank you._

It's odd, he thinks, how just a white screen and black letters can evoke such emotion in him, but he feels his spirits lift slightly at her words.

He types out his reply before grabbing the toothpaste.

 _Sleep well, Lisbon._

He's in bed by the time his phone vibrates again. He reaches out into the dark to grab the cell from the nightstand.

 _Goodnight, Jane._

He smiles slightly before setting the phone down.

For the first time in weeks, he falls asleep right away.

* * *

He doesn't manage to _stay_ asleep, however. At half past three, he finds himself thrashing about in bed, the thin covers pushed to the side due to his erratic movements. Jane's eyes flash open, and he breathes deeply, trying to catch his breath.

In his dream, he hadn't been able to get Lisbon out of the jacket strapping the bomb to her chest. They'd run out of time. She'd yelled at him to run away from her.

He'd refused and pulled her against him.

The last thing he remembered before he'd woken up was the feel of her shaking fingers on his chest, her head cradled in his hands.

Then nothing.

He rubs his hands over his eyes and stands up shakily. Then he walks over to the sink and splashes some water over his face. He turns the lights on, catches a glance at the haunted look in his eyes in the mirror, then flips them off again quickly. He turns away from the mirror, resting his lower back against the edge of the sink.

His phone buzzes, lighting up to signal an incoming text.

Glad for the distraction, Jane strides over to the nightstand. Instead of crawling back into bed, he sits on the floor and flips open the phone.

It's another text from Lisbon.

Startled, Jane glances at the clock. What the hell is she doing up?

He opens the text.

 _You awake?_

He responds right away.

 _You know me so well_ , he says, echoing her words to him earlier. He waits a few seconds before sending another message. _What's wrong?_

Thirty seconds later, his phone lights up again.

 _Bad dream._

He frowns. He exits out of the messaging screen, his finger hovering over the "call" button.

To hell with it, he decides, and he presses the button.

She picks up midway through the first ring. "Hey," she says quietly, sounding slightly hoarse and sleepy.

"You want to talk about it?" Jane asks, matching her tone.

Lisbon sighs. "Not really. Mostly I…mostly I just wanted to hear your voice."

He wonders how much that admission had cost her.

"That bad, huh?"

He hears her breathe out sharply. "Yeah." There's a few seconds of silence. "Why are you still up?"

Jane mulls this over quickly, debating how much to tell her. He decides it's easier just to be honest. "Same," he says.

"That bad, huh?" she echoes.

"I couldn't get you out of the vest," he admits, closing his eyes and leaning his back against the side of the bed. "Let's just say we didn't make it."

She doesn't respond for so long he wonders if the connection has been lost.

"Lisbon?" he asks eventually.

"Yeah, I'm here. Sorry," she says quickly. "You…you stayed with me?"

"What?"

"In your dream," she clarifies. "You stayed with me, even though you knew the bomb would go off?"

Jane's brow furrows in confusion. "Of course," he says, because to him it's the most obvious thing in the world.

When the world falls apart, the one thing he can count on is that he will be by Lisbon's side—because she will be by his.

Lisbon takes a deep breath. "You went off on your own," she whispers. "Somehow, he got to you, and we couldn't find you. And then we did." Another beat of silence. "He slit your throat. But only after I'd arrived so I could watch."

Jane's eyes flash open. He almost panics at the darkness and has to remind himself to breathe in and out. Finally, he composes himself enough to say, "Do you want me to come over to your place?"

He half hopes she will say yes.

"That's…um, that's not necessary," says Lisbon, and he has to push away his disappointment. "I just needed to talk to you." She hesitates, and Jane is silent. Then Lisbon continues, her voice low. "Listen, this is going to sound stupid, but…" She pauses again, as though steeling herself. "Would it be alright if we don't hang up? You don't have to talk at all—it would just make me feel a little better trying to get back to sleep. That way we...we wouldn't be alone."

It takes him a while to comprehend her words, and when he does, he's still not sure that Lisbon has said them. His Lisbon—the least likely person in the world to ask for help.

Her dream must really have terrified her.

"Sure," says Jane softly. "Of course."

"Thanks," says Lisbon, and the relief is obvious in her voice. A few seconds tick by, then she says, "Goodnight, Jane."

"I'm here, Lisbon."

Her response is so quiet he almost doesn't hear it.

"I know," she breathes.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Thanks again for your continued interest in this story! I read all your comments even if I can't answer them all individually, and they never fail to inspire me.**

 **Happy Mother's Day to those who are celebrating today!**

* * *

Jane slips in and out of sleep for the rest of the night—whenever he wakes, he catches a glance of his phone, and knowing that Lisbon is still on the other end of the line somehow calms him enough to be pulled back under. So at a quarter 'til seven, he finds himself blinking his eyes open. He throws back the covers and sits up, reaching for his cell.

His finger hovers over the red button.

"Morning, Lisbon," he whispers, then he ends the call.

Forty-five minutes later, he gets a call from Cho just as he's leaving his motel room to head to the CBI—there's a body waiting for the team across town. Scowling slightly, Jane hangs up and opens the door of the Citroen.

Before starting the ignition, he sends a text to Lisbon. Though she's still on recovery leave, she'll want to be kept in the loop.

 _We caught a case. Can I stop by tonight with food and fill you in?_

Jane backs out of his parking spot.

His phone buzzes about halfway through the drive to the scene, and Jane finally reaches for it when he arrives at the address Cho sent him. After pulling into a parking spot in the lot, Jane shuts off the engine and does a double take, staring out the windshield, his hand still extended for the phone.

He's just pulled into a parking lot of one of Sacramento's city parks. There's a shimmering pond in the distance, reflecting the morning sunshine, and rows of weeping willows line the trails.

Jane's eyes narrow.

He knows this park.

It's Lisbon's favorite place to go running when they don't have to work on the weekends. When he doesn't know where she is and needs to track her down, he usually heads here first. Shaking himself mentally, he grabs his phone to read Lisbon's response.

 _I'll take care of dinner. Just bring yourself._

Jane cannot help but smile softly at Lisbon's reply. She's never cooked for him before—will she start tonight? He thinks it's more likely that she'll order delivery. Not that he cares. Just having an excuse to visit is more than enough for him.

He tucks his phone in his suit jacket as he steps out of the Citroen, and he immediately catches the glimmer of Grace's red hair from across the parking lot. He hurries to catch up with her.

"Hey," he says as he approaches, and she turns around.

"Hi, Jane," she says, her voice slightly monotone. She begins walking down the trail toward where he can make out several crime scene techs swarming around, and he thinks he sees Rigsby's tall profile in the distance. Jane grabs her arm.

"Grace," he says in a low voice. "What are you doing here?" She's just shot and killed her fiancé, after all.

She gives him a steely look for a few seconds, then her mask breaks. "I need to work," she whispers, her voice trembling slightly.

He nods, looking at her for a few seconds. "I understand," he says finally.

She stares at him, obviously debating whether or not she should continue. Eventually she begins to speak again. "Will it get better?" she asks quietly. Jane waits patiently, and Grace elaborates. "I'm so tired of being angry and sad and a million other things I don't have words to describe."

No one's watching them, so Jane steps forward and wraps Grace in a bear hug. He'll be the first to admit that he cannot understand exactly what she's going through, will probably never understand—but he lives every day in the twin shadows of grief and anger, and these things he _does_ understand.

"It'll take a while," he says. "But I swear it will get better." He steps back quickly, and she nods. He gestures for her to lead the way, and together they walk down the path underneath the weeping willows.

Rigsby looks up as they approach. "Hey," he says. "Victim's name is Antonia Sutton; she was a student at Sac State." As Grace pulls on a pair of gloves, Rigsby hands her the victim's student ID card. Jane follows him around the techs and toward the victim, who's lying on her back in the center of the trail, her eyes wide open and her long, light brown hair mixed with pebbles from the path. She's wearing blue jeans and a bright yellow top, but the yellow is marred in several places with blood from the numerous stab wounds in her abdomen.

Jane glances at Grace, but she appears to be holding herself together. Jane examines the victim's shoes as he waits for Cho to finish talking with the head tech.

Eventually, Cho makes his way over to Grace, Jane, and Rigsby. "Anything useful, Jane?" he asks.

Jane is now hunched over the victim's neck. He takes a deep breath.

Nothing.

Jane begins to answer him, but the words die in his mouth the second he gets a closer look at the victim's eyes.

They're bright green.

And what's more, they're exactly the same shade as Lisbon's.

Jane stands up quickly and turns away, forcing himself to dispel the sudden wave of nausea he's feeling. He reaches out to the nearest tree trunk, feeling like he needs something to ground himself, to keep him steady.

He feels Grace's cool fingers on his wrist, and he turns to look at her. "What is it?" she asks.

Jane shakes his head. "N…nothing," he says. "It's nothing. It's just…her eyes are the same color as Lisbon's. After the events of the past week…well, the last thing I needed was to see Lisbon's eyes all vacant like that."

Grace's brow furrows, and she squeezes his hand before letting her arm drop.

Jane turns around. "She was a chemistry major," he says, trying to pull himself together.

Rigsby arches a brow at him.

Jane sighs. "There are acid burns on the sleeves of her shirt near the wrists," says Jane, pointing to the victim's yellow top. "Most likely, she was headed to a lab session—hence why she'd be wearing the shirt again. It's already ruined, so why take the chance at burning holes through another?"

"Anything else?" asks Cho.

"Yeah," says Jane. "Something feels off about this."

"What do you mean?" says Grace.

"You think this is Red John?" asks Rigsby.

Just as Jane opens his mouth to respond, the head tech walks up to Cho, holding out what appears to be a white business card in his gloved hands. "Agent Cho," he says, handing the card over. "One of my men just found this in the victim's backpack."

Cho glances at the card for a second then immediately looks over at Jane. Jane walks around the body to peer over Cho's shoulder at the business card.

It is blank save for a large, scarlet smiley face.

"So he's advertising now?" asks Rigsby in disgust. Grace looks down at the card in silence, her gaze steely.

"Damn it," says Jane, turning away to look through the willows. A bird chirps somewhere above him and flitters away, its shadow cutting across the crime scene. Jane takes a deep breath, turns back to the scene, and forces himself to look at Antonia's eyes again.

But it is Lisbon, not Antonia, who looks back at him.

* * *

He knocks on her door just after eight that night.

She takes longer than usual to respond, and by the time she finally opens the door, he's about ready to gather her into his arms.

But he restrains.

Instead, he looks into her eyes—her bright green, very much _alive_ eyes—and begins to feel all over again like he did at the hospital.

That is, slightly intoxicated.

"Hey," she says, stepping aside to let him enter, and he notices that she moves hesitantly, as though she's in a great deal of pain.

"You feeling alright?" he asks.

She nods, shutting and locking the door behind him. "I had my first physical therapy session today," she says by way of explanation. "It wasn't terribly pleasant." She grimaces.

He notices an enticing smell coming from her kitchen. "Lisbon," he says, smiling. "Did you cook for me?"

She chuckles. "Not really. I wasn't feeling up to much, so I put some chicken, peppers, and onions in a crock pot earlier. We're having fajitas."

"It smells fantastic," he says, grabbing her good hand and pulling her after him into the kitchen.

* * *

After dinner, they sit down on her couch, and Lisbon peels the sling away from her arm, scratching slightly at her irritated skin.

He wants to ask her if she got any sleep after she called him last night, but he's afraid she'll be embarrassed by the reminder of what she probably considers a moment of weakness, so he avoids the subject.

Instead, he tells her about Red John's latest victim. As he'd thought, Antonia Sutton had been a chemistry major at Sac State. He and Rigsby had talked with her professors and classmates that day, but none of them had been of much help.

"So, really," Jane says finally, "you didn't miss much."

Lisbon frowns. "I should have been there. I don't like the thought of you working a Red John case alone."

He gives her a look. "I'm not alone. I have the team."

"You know what I mean," she says. She holds his gaze for a while. "I'm sorry," she whispers eventually. "Every time we get one of his cases, it must feel like opening that door all over again."

A sudden image of a dark hallway and a door with a note taped crudely upon it flash through Jane's mind.

He doesn't respond, instead shifting his gaze away from her to focus on her knee.

She moves closer to him, scrutinizing him. "There's something you're not telling me," she says.

He looks up at her.

 _Oh, so very many things_ , he thinks. _If only you knew_.

But he's tired of keeping secrets from her. And if he can't tell her his biggest secret, at least he can let her in on what's troubling him about the crime scene.

He looks up at her and moves his arm to rest against the back of the couch. "The victim had your eyes," he says, his voice steely.

Her bottom lip drops a fraction of an inch in surprise. "She…she what?"

"Her eyes were the exact same color as yours," clarifies Jane. "I nearly had a panic attack when I looked into them because it felt like you were looking back at me."

The color drains from Lisbon's face. "Surely it doesn't mean anything," she says, laying her hand on his upper arm. "It's just a coincidence—after all, there are lots of people with green eyes. Like you, for instance."

"But she didn't have my green eyes; she had _yours_." Jane swallows. "And I don't believe in coincidences, especially where Red John is concerned. She was also found at the park where you like to run." He pauses for a beat. "You still think all this is a coincidence?"

Lisbon squeezes his arm. "I have to think that," she says. "Besides, after last night you were probably bound to find something about that woman to remind you of me," she points out softly. "Her eyes and the location at which she was found—those just happened to be the things you noticed. If I'd been there and the victim had been male, I'm sure it would have been the same for me thinking about you."

But her tone lacks conviction, and Jane can tell she's not convinced.

She looks down at her hand on his arm, and he follows her gaze.

What would it be like, he wonders suddenly, to be able to sit with her like this every night?

The thought is warm and comforting, a very welcome change from thinking about blood and death and Red John.

Suddenly, the warmth disappears, and an image of those lifeless, bright green eyes appears in his mind again.

Without thinking about it, Jane reaches over to Lisbon, placing his fingers underneath her chin and tilting her face up slightly.

"Jane?" she asks, concerned.

He knows his fingers are shaking—and he knows she can feel how they quiver against her skin.

"Could you just…" he begins, his voice slightly raspy. "Could you just look at me?" He moves his hands to the sides of her face, and his thumbs brush over the edges of her eyelids, coming to rest at the outside corners of her eyes. "I can't get that image out of my head."

She leans into his touch, tilting her head to the side slightly, and he's almost frightened by the intensity of her gaze.

"Burn this into your memory palace," she says, her words barely audible.

He complies.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Thanks again for your reviews, follows, and favorites! In this chapter, Jane gets to explain himself a bit, so hopefully some questions will be answered...while bringing forth more questions, of course!**

* * *

At the end of the week, they are no closer to solving the case than they were when they got it. It's almost a relief to get a call Friday afternoon sending them to the south of town for a new case.

This time, before they even approach the scene, they know Red John is responsible—first responders had reported his mark on the living room wall.

Jane sticks close to Cho, Rigsby, and Grace, all of whom are armed. The body was found in a rough neighborhood, and the approaching dusk doesn't do anything to calm Jane's anxiety. As the team walks across the street to the victim's house, the wind picks up a plastic bag and whisks it across their path; other pieces of garbage litter the street. Jane steps onto the cracked sidewalk in front of the house, careful to avoid tripping over where the weeds have crept up through the concrete. The house in front of them was once white, but without maintenance in years the paint has begun to fade and scratch away, revealing an ugly brown color underneath.

Rigsby holds the crime scene tape up for them, and they all duck under and walk up the steps to the house. They step inside, and Jane begins to breathe through his mouth at the smell of cigarette smoke that seems to have seeped into every piece of furniture and fabric in the house. He looks past the dark entranceway into the family room, where Red John's mark immediately catches his eye. It's somewhat larger than Jane has remembered seeing at any other scenes, and no matter where he looks, Jane cannot keep the mark from invading his line of vision.

A body is propped up beneath the mark on the couch, a trail of dried blood staining the off-white upholstery.

The victim is another woman, this one probably in her late thirties. Jane's attention is immediately drawn to her, and once again he feels panic begin to claw its way beneath his skin.

The patterning of the freckles is all wrong, of course, but the presence of the freckles themselves, paired with the victim's porcelain skin, sends a clear enough message to Jane.

"My god," says Grace, and Jane knows the similarity is striking enough that the rest of the team have noticed as well.

Jane takes a deep breath, forgetting for a moment to breathe through his mouth, and the intense smell of cigarettes combined with the sight of Lisbon's skin on a dead woman makes bile rise in his throat. He turns around quickly, brushing past Grace as he moves outside, and he takes several deep breaths of clean air after the battered screen door clangs shut behind him.

"You okay?"

Jane turns around to find Cho facing him from behind the screen door.

"When we get back to headquarters, I need to talk to you," Jane says. He'd thought it would be best to keep everything to himself, but now…he wonders if he's been doing the right thing. Two victims in a row, both with Red John's calling card, and both with physical similarities to Lisbon. He can't ignore whatever message Red John is trying to send to him any longer.

Cho nods and heads back to the family room.

The team is there for a little more than an hour, but Jane cannot bring himself to reenter the house. Instead, he talks with the victim's husband, who eventually joins him on the porch, looking like he too cannot handle the scene inside.

The husband is clearly in shock, and Jane gets very little from him. His wife was a school janitor who often worked night shifts. Even though their neighborhood could have been better, he believes most of the people there had genuinely liked his wife, and he can't think of any reason why someone would come after her.

Jane believes him.

They leave soon after, and they drive back into town with the sun sinking down to their left.

Cho tells Rigsby and Grace to head home for the day—despite the fact that it's the weekend, they will be in early tomorrow morning to begin pouring over case files and interview notes. Jane follows Cho back into headquarters, and they stand in the elevator in silence. The doors open with a _ding_ , and Cho gestures with his head toward the observation rooms.

The bullpen is eerily empty at this time of day, and they walk through the darkened halls quickly, their steps echoing around them. Cho holds open the door to Observation Room 1, and Jane steps inside.

The door swings shut behind Cho, who flips on the light. "What is it?"

Jane breathes in deeply and leans against the two-way mirror. He glances at Cho. "When you asked me what happened at the mall after you left to go to Lisbon and Grace…I lied."

"I know."

Jane had almost expected this. Not much gets by Cho.

"I called Lisbon," Jane says, "and she was shot while she was talking to me. Then O'Laughlin got shot, and Lisbon told me she was alright." He gestures with his hands as he speaks, not able to keep them still. "I asked her to get his phone and dial the last number on his recent contacts, and she did. She told the man who answered that O'Laughlin was dead, and I watched as a man sitting across from me at the mall answered her. Lisbon got back on the line a few seconds later to confirm what he'd said."

Cho's face isn't stoic any longer. "Red John was in the mall that day?"

Jane nods.

"And you didn't feel it was necessary to get us a description of him?" asks Cho. "We could call in a sketch artist, put his picture everywhere." He looks livid.

Or as livid as Cho can get.

Jane rolls his eyes. "You know as well as I do that if we give his picture to the media, he'll disappear, and there's no way in hell we'll be able to track him down if he leaves the country. I need him here."

"What if we recruited the sketch artist but didn't give the picture to the media? It might be useful to have a reference sketch to show to people we interview. They might even be able to tell us where to find him if they recognize him."

Jane shakes his head. "Still too risky. I don't trust anyone in the CBI apart from our team—who's to say their forensic artists haven't been corrupted by Red John as well? If he sees us getting too close, he'll run."

"That's a bullshit excuse, Jane, and you know it."

Jane feels his pulse quicken upon being called out.

"Look, I'll describe him for you and the team—"

"Yes, you will," Cho interrupts. "But right now, I'm more interested in the real reason you don't want to pursue this lead."

Jane hesitates before remembering the whole point of this conversation was to be honest with Cho. "I'm scared that getting too close to Red John will provoke him," he admits.

"That's never stopped you before."

Jane meets Cho's eyes, and he knows Cho's determined expression mirrors his own.

"Yeah, well," says Jane, "that was before I spoke with him."

Cho's eyes harden. "You _spoke_ with him? Face to face? Without any backup?"

"I did," confirms Jane. "Before you chastise me—yes, I know it was stupid. I realized that at the same moment I noticed he had a gun pointed at me. But at that point, I couldn't refuse anything he said, so I sat down across from him, and we chatted."

Jane very deliberately leaves out the fact that he himself was armed that day.

Cho's glare remains more impassive than ever.

Jane taps his thumbs together in irritation. He continues. "After I joined him, he told me that my life was precious, that I needed to find a woman to love." Jane avoids Cho's eyes, looking down at the floor. "I must have reacted poorly because he read me—he figured out that I had already found someone."

"Lisbon," supplies Cho, nodding, and Jane is not at all surprised that he has figured this out.

Jane looks up again. "I didn't realize it until Red John pointed it out," he says quietly, leaning the back of his head against the mirror. "And I don't think Red John knew for sure until the day at the mall. But now he does, and it's given him leverage."

"You mean it's given him ammunition to mess with you," Cho clarifies. "You think that's why he's killed recently—the young woman with Lisbon's eyes. And today—the woman with Lisbon's skin."

"Add that to the fact that the first victim was found in the park where Lisbon goes jogging on the weekends." Jane feels his shoulders tense up.

"So he's killing to deliberately remind you of Lisbon." Cho leans against the doorframe, letting out a deep sigh. "And that's why you don't want to provoke him. You're worried he's going to go after her if we get too close."

Jane lifts his shoulders in a helpless gesture. "I have no idea. I have absolutely no idea what he's planning. That's why I wanted to talk to you—I need your opinion on the matter."

Cho runs a hand through his hair. "The CBI doesn't have the resources to put protection on Lisbon all day, every day—and with what circumstantial evidence we have that she's possibly at risk, I don't think we'd have a shot of getting help anyway. Plus, she'd likely refuse the protection even if we _could_ get it." He stares at Jane, and his eyes narrow. "I'm guessing you told me first because you'd like to avoid explaining all this to her?"

Jane isn't sure how to respond. After all, a part of him does want to tell Lisbon everything—exactly what he's feeling and why he's scared for her safety. But the voice that wins out is telling him to keep his distance, to never tell her the truth.

 _Anyone who gets close to me—bad things happen to them_.

It's like a mantra, echoing over and over again in his skull.

"She's going to find out eventually," says Cho. "Might as well be on your terms."

Jane shakes his head at this. "If I play my cards right, she won't have to find out at all. That's why I'm asking you—I need a way to keep her safe without forcing my hand."

Cho gives him an exasperated look. "That sounds like playing your cards _wrong_ to me," he says, and Jane stares at him, shocked.

Does that mean what Jane thinks it does?

But Cho is talking again, and Jane focuses on his words.

"Look," says Cho. "Lisbon will be coming back into work on desk duty next week. We'll be able to keep an eye on her better that way. But in the meantime, you need to tell her something so that she's careful. I don't want her leaving her house alone anymore unless she really has to—at least not until she's healed and we've got a better idea of what's going on. You don't have to tell her what Red John figured out, but you should tell her that you met with him. Tell her what he looks like. If she asks why you think Red John might be focusing on her, just tell her you're not sure."

Jane nods.

"Head over there now, alright?" says Cho, and he slips out the door, leaving Jane alone.

Jane breathes deeply and then follows him out.

* * *

He calls her on the way over to her house.

"Is it alright if I stop by in a few minutes?" he asks, slightly breathless.

"Of course," she says.

"See you in ten."

"I'll be here."

* * *

They sit down on her couch again, just like they did a few nights ago, and Lisbon reaches for the remote, turning off a news report about a college professor who'd just received a national award for his research. She shifts so that she is sitting closer to Jane than she had been before, and when he breathes in, he smells cinnamon and warmth.

She frowns at him. "Something happened today that upset you," she notes. "Did you find something on Red John?"

He holds her gaze. "Something like that," he says, and he begins to tell her everything—or nearly everything. He describes Red John and their conversation, but he leaves out what Red John had been able to read off him. After, he tells her about the latest victim.

When he finishes, Jane realizes Lisbon hasn't moved for the better part of five minutes. This eerie stillness reminds him of rigor mortis—when the muscles of corpses become immobilized—and he places a hand on her arm, concerned. "Lisbon?"

She shakes her head, coming back to him. "Why did you not tell me?" she asks. "You had new leads—and you didn't tell me."

He can't find the words to explain it, but she seems to gather enough from his expression.

"You're worried about what he will do to me if you follow those leads."

He gives an infinitesimal nod.

They are silent for a few minutes before she speaks again.

"You were right—about all of it," she whispers. "Of course you were."

He wishes he weren't.

She pulls her knees up to her chest. "You think this is his way of getting back at us for taking out O'Laughlin."

It's not a question, but his silence is answer enough.

"He's killing people who look like me—he's planning on going after me." Lisbon's voice is monotone, emotionless, and Jane wonders how well she's actually processing this information.

Jane leans toward her. "That is a very real possibility."

Lisbon's eyes are bright. "He's never shown interest in me before," she points out. "He's always engaged directly with you. Why change it up all of the sudden?"

Lisbon closes her eyes, and Jane wants so badly to take her hand. He resists.

"Red John likes to play games," Jane finally says, his voice low. "And he very much enjoys the game he has going with us. I doubt he would do anything to sacrifice that game, meaning I don't think his goal necessarily is to win—and that in turn means your life is probably not in danger. Rather than winning per se, I think it's more likely Red John wants to see _me_ lose. Repeatedly. And he has it in his mind that the best way to make that happen is through you."

Lisbon's eyes flash open, and the genuine fear in them terrifies Jane. "Why does he think that?" she whispers.

"He knows me," says Jane simply. "We're too much alike. He also knows that every man has a weakness. And you're mine."

Her eyes become wide as his words sink in. Then she leans the side of her head against the back of the couch, brushing her bangs out of her eyes.

"You're mine, too, you know," she says quietly, looking away.

Jane chuckles. "Teresa Lisbon doesn't have a weakness."

Lisbon shakes her head. "Oh, I have many. And they all begin and end with you."

He makes a face at her and rolls his eyes, disbelieving.

"You don't believe me?" she asks. "Well, allow me to demonstrate." She reaches for his hand, finally staring right into his eyes. "Stay the night, Jane. Please. I don't want to be alone after this conversation we just had."

He concentrates on the warmth of her fingers—on the weight of her palm in his.

" _Please_ ," she says again, clearly begging this time.

He cannot help it—cannot restrain himself any longer. He leans over and places the softest of kisses on her forehead.

"I'll stay, Lisbon," he says. "As long as you need me."

Her eyes flutter closed at his words.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Thanks again for your reviews! They keep me motivated, and I love reading what you guys think so far. And now, onto the next chapter...**

* * *

She offers him her guest room.

He refuses, preferring the couch. He doesn't tell her that this is because the couch smells like her.

He grabs his overnight bag from the car—stashed there in case they are called away at the last minute on an out of town case—and looks around at the darkened neighborhood. Somehow, every lurking shadow seems sinister, and he walks a little faster back to her door.

He's lying on the couch, eyes closed and hands folded together on his stomach, a few minutes later when she descends the stairs. He smiles when she lifts his head up to slide a pillow underneath, and a few seconds later, he feels the warmth of a soft blanket cover his legs and torso.

He opens his eyes and smiles all over again at the sight of her in a Chicago Bears shirt that's about four sizes too large.

"Thank you, Lisbon," he says.

She smiles at him. "You would really be more comfortable upstairs, you know."

"I'm fine right here," he says, reaching out to grab her hand. He pulls her toward him, and he's surprised when she lets him. She sits down on the couch next to his elbow.

He watches as she looks at him, her eyes revealing everything and nothing at all.

"I've never seen you like this before, Jane," she says. "I can't remember ever seeing you scared."

Too late, he realizes his hand in hers has tensed, and she surely has felt it.

He takes his time in answering. "When you first met me—and for a long time after that—I had nothing to lose," he says quietly. "I can't say the same is true anymore."

Her brow crinkles. She doesn't ask what he is afraid of losing.

Instead, she reaches out to run a hand through his curls, and he closes his eyes at her touch. "Goodnight Jane," she breathes, and he watches her walk up the stairs, every cell in his body wishing he could join her.

* * *

He wakes in the middle of the night, grateful that he cannot remember any of his dreams.

After a few minutes of staring at the ceiling, Jane flings back the blanket Lisbon had tossed over him earlier and turns on the lamp beside the couch. It bathes the room more in shadow than in light, but it illuminates enough for Jane to navigate.

He walks over to the shelves lining the wall and begins scanning the spines of her books.

He hadn't been an insomniac before his wife died. But now, thousands of sleepless nights later, he wonders if the reason for his erratic sleeping habits is if he hadn't ever been able to get used to sleeping alone—if _this_ is the reason why he can never sleep.

He dismisses the thought and kneels down to examine the bottom shelf.

Like any insomniac, he knows the worst thing he can do is to lie in bed and worry about getting to sleep. He's better off trying to occupy his mind.

His fingers brush over the spines. He's somewhat surprised to find no crime novels—perhaps she sees enough death at work—and very few classics. Rather, most of the books on these shelves contain poetry, as he discovers when he pulls one out and opens it.

Jane smiles.

He wouldn't have pegged Lisbon for a closet poetry enthusiast.

Tucking the book under his arm slightly, he makes to turn away from the shelf before something catches his eye. One of the middle shelves has a cherry-colored wooden box crammed between books on either side. Curiosity gets the best of him, and he reaches over to open the lid.

He drops the book in surprise and swears under his breath when it makes a loud _thump_ as it connects with the ground. He looks over at the staircase, breathing silently, but there is no movement from upstairs.

Ignoring the fallen book for the moment, Jane reaches inside the box and picks up a photograph.

Jane remembers the day this picture was taken. They were at a crime scene near the state line, and Grace had been photographing the evidence. He hadn't realized Grace had also photographed himself and Lisbon.

He smiles slightly as he takes in the image. Lisbon is looking at something off camera, and he is looking at Lisbon.

The intensity of his gaze in the picture makes Jane wonder—how had he only just now figured out his feelings for her? It must have been obvious for years to anyone who'd been paying the slightest bit of attention.

Jane wonders how Lisbon had gotten the photograph in her possession. He can't say he blames her for keeping it.

He stares at the picture for a long moment before realizing that the box is not yet empty.

Lying on the velvet lining of the box is a set of hand-drawn tarot cards.

His breath catches.

He'd drawn these cards _years_ ago during his very first case with Lisbon. He had no idea she'd kept them.

He flips through them, wondering if there's any significance to the fact that _The Lovers_ was the card on top of the deck. Then he turns the cards over so that he cannot see the sketches, and he begins to shuffle them. He picks a card at random and nearly drops it when he flips it over.

 _The Hangman._

That card had been picked by the killer on Jane's first case. And Jane can't help wondering, however ridiculous it sounds, what it means that he has drawn this card now.

An image of Lisbon's corpse appears, unbidden, in Jane's mind.

And suddenly he knows—he will ultimately be responsible for Lisbon's death. His attention has marked her.

He will kill her because he cares for her.

He has the sudden desire to rip the card into pieces, but instead he quickly puts it away along with the other cards and the photograph. He stands there for a while, his hand on the closed box, breathing deeply as he tries to get his pulse back to normal.

 _It doesn't mean anything. You were never a psychic. There are no such things as psychics. You make your own future_ — _you don't follow a script given to you by a conman._

But no matter what variation of this he tells himself, the image of the hangman he'd drawn all those years ago seems to etch itself into his brain, and he spends the rest of the night counting down the minutes until sunrise.

* * *

Lisbon comes back to work full time the following Monday, sans sling, and he can't help the goofy smile he sends her way as she walks into the bullpen. He stands up from his couch to greet her, and the rest of the team comes over to welcome her back. In a few minutes, however, they've disbanded, and Jane stands with Lisbon alone.

She leans into him slightly. "You wouldn't happen to have any idea why Bertram wants to see me, would you?" she asks in a hushed tone.

Jane shakes his head slightly. "No," he says. "I haven't heard anything. But surely it can only be good news, right? I mean, I've been trying to keep out of trouble."

Lisbon grins at him and elbows him in the ribs softly. Though normally he wouldn't be so thrilled with this, he notices she'd used her injured arm to touch him, and he smiles. She must be feeling better if her arm has healed enough to allow her to return to abusing him.

"I'll see you in a bit," she says, walking toward the elevators, and Jane grabs some files from their open cases to peruse as he waits for her.

* * *

Lisbon returns far too quickly for the meeting to have gone well.

Jane reads the set of her shoulders as she walks from the elevators and into her office, and he immediately sets down the file he's holding, not noticing that some of the pages have floated to the floor in his haste to move to her. Though Cho and Rigsby are out running down (what Jane suspects to be dead-end) leads, Grace looks up at his abrupt movement, startled.

Jane knocks and waits for her to look at him through the glass and invite him in before he enters.

"What happened?" he asks.

She's standing beside her desk, with every appearance of Agent Lisbon—sensible shoes, a dark blazer, her hair in a bun, her cross necklace catching the light. But she's not acting like Agent Lisbon.

She's acting like Teresa.

Jane watches as she searches for words, looking very lost. Finally she looks at him as though he is the only person who can find her.

"I've just been demoted," she says, sounding shell-shocked.

Jane moves away from the door to stand in front of her. " _What?"_ he asks. Surely he cannot have heard that right.

She shakes her head in disbelief, evidently having just as difficult a time as him in grasping this. "The powers that be reviewed the Hightower situation while I was on leave," Lisbon says. "They determined that it was a severe lapse in judgement for me to have let O'Laughlin anywhere near Hightower and her children. They're saying it's my fault I was shot—I should have made sure he was clean."

Jane has to turn away for a second before answering her. He paces over to her couch in agitation then turns back around. "And I'm assuming they're not blaming the FBI for failing to notice that Red John's mole was one of theirs the whole time? O'Laughlin was supposed to be clean—Grace told us he was. Everything was done according to protocol, right? And no rules were broken!"

Lisbon looks up at the ceiling, and Jane realizes she is trying to stop herself from crying. "But they're right," she whispers, her voice so soft Jane has to walk toward her to hear it. "They're right—I shouldn't have let Grace bring him there. He was a suspect, and he'd only been cleared a few hours before. If I'd told her not to bring him, maybe he'd still be alive and we'd be closer to catching Red John."

She finally looks over at Jane, and his heart crumbles into oblivion as he watches a single tear fall down her cheek. "I'm sorry, Jane. I messed up. I don't know what I was thinking."

" _No_ ," says Jane emphatically. "Lisbon, stop that. You didn't make a mistake, alright? If anything it was me. I came up with that plan, and clearly it wasn't foolproof. It's my fault. Lisbon, please, don't take the blame on this."

Lisbon brushes the tear away. "I already have," she says in the same, small tone. "They've reassigned me to entrance security for the time being. Cho's taking over this office, and I think you'll be getting a rookie to fill out the team."

" _What?_ " says Jane. "No, Lisbon, come on—this is crazy! All the stuff I've pulled before was far worse than this, and they never took action against you! You can't just let them do this." He slams his palm down on her desk. " _Damn it_ ," he says. "God, I'm so sorry, Lisbon. This is my fault—I'm going to fix this, Lisbon— _I swear to you I'll fix it_."

She steps closer to him. "Please don't," she says weakly. "The last thing the team needs right now is another of your plans, Jane, alright? I don't want to give Bertram any reason to go after you, Cho, Rigsby, or Van Pelt."

She turns away from him, bending down to open her bottom desk drawers and begin unloading her possessions. Jane follows her and reaches over to pull her upright.

"Lisbon," he says, pleading.

She touches his forearm lightly, trying to smile at him. "I'm not mad at you, Jane," she whispers. "It was a good plan. Really, it was. I messed up, and I need to deal with the consequences of that. I'll work my way back up again—this won't be permanent."

" _Lisbon_ ," he says again, his voice cracking.

"I know, Jane. I know."

But she doesn't, _not really_ , and Jane can't find the words to tell her what he means. So, instead, he watches her pack up her possessions from her office in silence, and it feels like she takes a part of him with her when she slips out the door.


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Thanks again for following along! I apologize for the delay in updating, but I wanted to plan out the remainder of this story before I posted more chapters. Now that that's done, hopefully I'll be able to update more often.**

* * *

Jane watches as Lisbon stops by Cho's desk to say a few words to him. He looks up, immediately taking note of the cardboard box she has set against her hip. After a few seconds, Lisbon leaves abruptly, and Cho looks over to her office. He meets Jane's eye, questioning, and Rigsby and Grace look on with confused expressions.

Jane gives an almost imperceptible nod.

Cho calls out softly to Rigsby and Grace as he stands up, and all three of them leave the bullpen, heading toward Lisbon's office.

"What the hell is going on?" asks Grace as she enters. The others follow her in, and Cho shuts the door behind him.

Jane walks over to Lisbon's couch slowly and sits down. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, and his hands come together almost as though he's praying.

He would if he thought it would help Lisbon.

"Lisbon got pulled from the team," Jane says quietly. "They're assigning her to building security for the time being."

"You cannot be serious." Grace looks furious—her hands are clenched into fists at her sides, and there's a fire in her eyes that has been missing since she'd shot O'Laughlin. "Why?"

Jane gives her an apologetic look. "Bertram's saying she shouldn't have let O'Laughlin near the safehouse."

As he'd expected, the color leaves Grace's face. "But...but that was _my_ fault," she says, her voice small but emotional.

"It was the team's fault," he says. "My plan wasn't foolproof. I should have seen that from the beginning. And I should have recognized O'Laughlin for who he was."

Rigsby steps forward. "Look, I don't care whose fault it was. We need to focus on the boss right now, okay?"

Cho nods. "Rigsby's right." He looks at Jane. "You said Red John was going to target Lisbon. This certainly would count—one look at her and I could tell she was already doubting herself. She walked out of here just now wondering if she was a good cop."

Rigsby and Grace look at Cho, confused, but to Jane this makes perfect sense. Why hadn't this occurred to him right away? Now that Cho has pointed it out, it seems obvious.

Jane shakes himself. He knows why he hadn't made the connection.

He'd been too worried about Lisbon.

He'd been too focused on her to put the pieces together.

Yet another reason why putting some distance between himself and Lisbon is a good thing, he realizes. How can he protect her if his emotions are messing with his objectivity?

Cho looks at Jane, and Jane nods, giving him permission to tell the rest of the team.

And he does, though he leaves out the particulars of the conversation Jane had had with Red John, for which Jane is grateful. He has no desire for them to learn of his feelings for Lisbon.

Grace catches his eye, giving him a scrutinizing look.

Startled, Jane realizes that she already knows what Cho is leaving out of the story.

Before he has time to process this development, Cho has finished talking.

"So," says Rigsby, looking at each of them in turn. "What do we do?"

Jane sighs. "Lisbon doesn't want us to try to get her job back," he says. "She thinks that would put _your_ jobs at risk. She's right to ask us to step away—but not for the reason she thought. If Red John is behind this, any little con I could come up with wouldn't make any difference. No matter what we did to clear her name, Red John's orders would keep her where she is."

Cho nods slightly in agreement.

"So, what—we're not going to do _anything_?" asks Grace, exasperated. Her tone is desperate. "We're just going to let him win?"

Rigsby grabs her arm and gives her a look. "You know we're not, Grace. We're going to keep working the cases, and we're going to get him. If he's killing more people to remind us of Lisbon, he's going to slip up. And we're going to be there when he does."

"That's exactly what we're going to do," says Cho, and Jane is reminded that he's the new team leader. "And standing around here doing nothing is not going to help Lisbon, so let's get back to work, alright?"

They file out of the office leaving Jane behind, and the door swings shut behind them.

Jane sighs, running his hands over his face, and he leans back against the couch, trying to get his emotions under control.

* * *

Despite being one team member short, they return to working the two cases.

Over the weekend, Grace had discovered that the second victim, Paula Greenwood, had been working through a janitorial and maintenance temp agency before getting a permanent job as a janitor at the high school located about half a mile from her home. After several rounds of phone tag, Grace finally obtains a copy of the record of temp positions that had been assigned to the victim.

Grace glances at Jane.

"She worked night shift at Sac State for a couple months as a temp."

Jane sits up on his couch.

"That's where Antonia was a student."

Grace nods.

"And we have our connection." He gestures for her to hand over the files. She does, simultaneously reaching for her cell phone to text Cho, who is on campus with Rigsby speaking with Antonia's former roommates.

A few seconds later, she puts down the phone, and Jane crosses the room to stand by her desk. He opens the file and flips through some of the pages until he lands on Antonia's class schedule.

"Can you tell me where her classes were?" he asks.

Grace pulls up the university website and navigates to the course listings. "What are the titles of the courses?"

"Advanced Organic Synthesis, Physical Chemistry II, and Biochemistry."

Grace's fingers fly over her keyboard, and a new page pops up. "Looks like they were all in Sequoia Hall," she says.

Jane leans on her desk. "Where did Paula work?"

Grace flips through the second victim's file. "Amador Hall," she says, slightly disappointed.

"Doesn't mean there's not a connection," says Jane. Something in Antonia's file catches his eye. There's a beat of silence. "Antonia was also a psychology minor," he says.

Grace is already typing away. Another page pops up. Grace grins at him. "The psychology department is located in Amador Hall," she says. She stands up. "Come on," she adds. "Let's check it out."

* * *

Lisbon doesn't look surprised to see him when he shows up on her doorstep after work that evening. She invites him inside, but instead he offers her his arm, gesturing with his other hand to the approaching dusk. "Want to go for a walk?"

She nods, grabbing a jacket that he's pretty sure has a gun stowed away in one of the pockets. Then she threads her arm through his, and they move toward the street.

They walk past the other condos in her neighborhood in silence for a few minutes, then Jane finally speaks. "We found a connection between the victims today," he says. "Paula was a temporary janitor at Sac State. Antonia was a psychology minor there, and Paula was in charge of looking after the building where the psychology department is located."

Lisbon nods as she takes in this information, her brow furrowing as she thinks.

"Cho and Rigsby didn't get anything useful out of Antonia's roommates today, and Grace and I interviewed Antonia's psychology advisor—and basically anyone else in the department who knew her. It wasn't helpful." He sighs. "None of the psychology faculty members match my physical description of Red John. I even gave that description to the faculty chair, and she couldn't think of anyone who fit the bill."

Lisbon watches him warily as he speaks. "You shouldn't be telling me this. I'm not on the team anymore, remember?"

Jane chooses not to respond to this, still refusing to believe it's true. "We found out something else today," he says quietly instead. He leans toward her to speak directly in her ear. "It wasn't your fault," he whispers when she looks over at him. "Cho thinks Red John is behind your demotion."

He pulls away to read her, and he's not surprised to see the range of emotions that cross her face. Bewilderment, fear, anger—and something else he can't quite discern.

Clearly Jane wasn't the only one who hadn't been able to put the pieces together; by the look of relief on Lisbon's face, Jane can tell she's spent the last several hours questioning her competency as a cop.

She stops on the sidewalk, trying to process this information. Jane drops her arm and turns to face her, leaning down slightly to look into her eyes.

"You okay?" he asks.

Lisbon's eyes suddenly come into focus, and she looks up at him. "Yeah," she says. "Yeah, I'm alright."

"It seems like part of his plan is to make you doubt yourself, Lisbon. Don't let him succeed—you're the best cop I know." He pauses, wondering if he should continue. He does anyway. "You're the best _person_ I know," he amends.

Her eyes shine despite the incoming darkness around them, and the smile she gives him is so tender his knees nearly buckle beneath him.

She takes a step toward him, and he holds his breath as she rocks forward onto her tiptoes and brushes a kiss to the corner of his mouth, steadying herself by holding onto his shoulders.

Then she steps away, a pleasant blush creeping up her neck, and Jane can't stop himself from saying, "What was that for?"

She can barely meet his eyes, and Jane can't remember her ever being so shy around him. "For being you," she says. "Thank you for always looking out for me." She gives him a very Lisbon look. "Even if I can do it myself."

A gust of wind sweeps over them, billowing Jane's suit jacket for a few seconds before it dies down. He looks around at the deserted street and feels gooseflesh erupt down his arms.

"Don't thank me yet," he says, and he can't help the darkness that seeps into his tone. He feels the two halves of his heart warring against each other.

One half tells him to grab her and kiss her senseless.

The other tells him to run as far as he can from her—maybe this way he can save her from him.

"Don't do that," Lisbon chastises.

"What?" he asks, unsure.

She steps forward, and her arms snake around his waist, coming to rest under his jacket. She leans the side of her head against his chest, and he watches in wonder as she closes her eyes.

"You get this look on your face sometimes," she whispers, "when you're feeling guilty about something—this look of pure loathing. But God, Jane, it's so painful for me to see that. Because how can you really think of yourself that way?"

His hand comes up to tangle in her hair as he answers. "It's very easy, I assure you."

Her arms tighten around him. "That is _not_ how I see you," she says forcefully. "That is the farthest thing from what I see when I look at you."

His fingers still.

He opens his mouth, and he nearly asks her. He nearly asks her how she sees him.

But he is afraid he will not like her answer, so he pushes the words down deep.

"Come on," he says instead, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Let's get you home."

They walk back to the house in companionable silence.

* * *

That night, the unasked question haunts his dreams.

* * *

Their investigation into both cases the next morning leaves much to be desired.

Grace and Rigsby canvas the neighborhood of the second victim. They confirm what her husband had told Jane—the neighbors liked her, but beyond that they hadn't known her well. Cho spends the morning going through financial records of both victims but doesn't find anything out of the ordinary.

Jane stares at the crime scene photos for four hours straight. By the end of those four hours, he can almost look at the bodies and not see Lisbon.

Almost.

Just after one o'clock, the phone on Cho's desk rings. Jane spares it little attention as Cho answers, instead continuing to pour over the list of faculty in the psychology department, reviewing their research interests. None of them raise any alarms, and he rubs his face with his hands.

"Jane."

Jane looks over at Cho, who's just placing the phone back on the receiver, his mouth drawn in a tight line.

"Erica Flynn wants to speak with you."

Jane cannot stop the look of incredulity that flashes across his face. " _Why?_ " he asks, putting the papers in his hands to the side. He stands up from his couch and walks over to Cho.

"Apparently she has information that you need."

"Those were her exact words?"

"Her exact words."

Jane looks past Cho and out the window, where the California sky has clouded over, making it appear as though evening has come early.

She'd said she had information he _needed_. Not _wanted_.

Erica Flynn, despite being in prison for the last few months, has information he needs.

If there's any chance this information concerns Lisbon...

"Damn it," says Jane loudly.

Cho picks up the phone again. "I'll arrange the visit."


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: Thanks for the great response to the last chapter! This chapter was one of my favorites to write, so I hope you all enjoy it as well. Next chapter should be up sometime this weekend!**

* * *

"You don't want me to come in there, do you?" says Cho, gesturing with his head to the room which holds Erica Flynn.

He and Jane have just arrived at the prison where Erica has spent the past few months. A heavyset guard with a stern expression stands at the door, waiting for them.

Jane sighs. "I think I'll get more out of her if you stay here," he admits.

Cho nods, then he looks at the guard. "Let him in."

The door opens, and Jane walks through.

Erica Flynn is seated at the sole table in the room. She flashes him a devastating smile that he immediately dismisses.

"Orange suits you," says Jane as soon as the door shuts behind him. "As do handcuffs."

He takes her in and is frustrated to find that his words are actually true: he imagines it would be very difficult to dress Erica Flynn in a way which did _not_ suit her.

Luckily for him, Erica is also psychopath-level crazy, which he finds strongly detracts from her overall attractiveness.

She smirks at him, brushing her hair out of her face. It's grown since they'd last met—it must be obnoxious to her to not have access to a stylist while in prison.

Jane walks over to the table, which is bolted to the floor. The rest of the gray brick room is empty, making Erica's jumpsuit appear even more gaudy by comparison.

Jane sits.

"And I'm afraid bitterness does not suit _you_ , Patrick," Erica says. "However, I must admit you do look well." Her eyes rove over him, and he is suddenly aware that she is unabashedly checking him out.

He nods in response to her statement. "I am."

Her eyes narrow in half confusion, half surprise. "You mean that," she says. When he doesn't respond, she says, "Ah, I see. He was right."

Jane taps his fingers on the table lazily. "See what, Erica? And who was right?"

Erica leans forward, bringing her hands over to touch Jane's fingers. The cold metal of her handcuffs bites against his skin. She smiles. "I'm a matchmaker, Patrick. How can I not see what's written all over your face?" She shrugs. "It wasn't obvious a few months ago, but subtle signs were there. When we recorded your dating profile video—you weren't only thinking of your wife when answering those questions, were you?"

Jane tenses, and he feels Erica's fingers wrap around his own.

He thinks back to the answers he'd given.

Yes, he'd been thinking of his wife—at least consciously. But he realizes suddenly that every word he'd spoken when describing his ideal match fits Lisbon as well.

He looks up at Erica, floored.

"I thought so," she says knowingly. "I'm happy for you, Patrick."

Jane shakes himself, pulling his hands away from her. "What am I doing here?" he asks, monotone.

Erica leans back. "I'd like to make an exchange."

"I'm listening."

"I have information regarding Red John," Erica says. "Given your current…situation with Agent Lisbon, I thought you'd like to have it."

Jane's eyes narrow as he takes her in. Somehow, she knows about the latest cases that have been assigned to the unit—and she knows about their connection to Lisbon.

"What will this information cost me?" asks Jane, wary.

Erica doesn't pretend to be wounded by this. "You'll get me out of here for the day," she says softly. "I'll do the rest."

She's asking him to help break her out of prison, he realizes.

Jane laughs without humor. "Not a chance," he says. "You do realize I put you in here for a reason?"

"Red John needs me," says Erica, pouting slightly. "If you can get me out, he'll reward you."

Jane's derisive smile freezes on his face. "You're with Red John?"

Erica sends him a sultry grin. "Of course," she says. "Before I met him, I was merely a competent matchmaker. Now I am exceptional—because of what I've learned from him about observation. It's funny—you're a lot alike, Patrick. You and him. Oh," she adds as an afterthought. "I suppose I should clarify that the information I have is not _on_ him but rather _from_ him."

"Why can't he just break you out himself? He clearly has the connections in law enforcement to make that possible."

"Breaking me out himself would leave a trail. It's much more efficient to have you do it—that way, he can't be tracked through me."

Jane swallows. "Why should I even consider this? How do I know you're telling the truth? That this information you have is any good?"

"Red John wants to ensure you'll be satisfied with your reward if you help him. I promise, the information _is_ worth it."

Jane frowns. "You'll have to forgive me for not being able to take you at your word, Erica."

"He said you'd say that," says Erica. She stands up, leaning across the table, and her lips are suddenly at his ear. He feels her breath on his skin. "That night," she says, her tone more appropriate for the bedroom than the interrogation room, "your wife was very clean. She smelled like coal tar soap and lavender. Your daughter...she smelled like sweat and strawberries and cream."

Jane freezes.

Erica is so close he can feel her smile against his skin, and her lips brush his ear as she pulls away. She sits back down across from him, still wearing the ghost of her smile, and it takes everything in Jane to prevent himself from hyperventilating.

His vision tunnels.

He stands quickly and leaves without another word, stuffing his hands inside his suit pockets to hide the tell-tale trembling of his fingers.

* * *

He holds himself together until he arrives at Lisbon's house that night, and then he falls apart in her arms.

Startled and scared, she leads him over to her couch, where she sits him down and pulls him against her, making _shushing_ noises. He can't control the tremors that make his entire body quake, and he vaguely registers that Lisbon has thrown the blanket from the back of the couch over them both.

He can't remember ever losing control quite so badly. Even just after the deaths of his family, he'd grieved in silence, the pain too raw to be felt for fear it'd tear him completely apart.

Eventually, though, his gasps become quieter. He pulls back from Lisbon slightly, his vision still blurry—but he can make out the dampness of her shirt from where his face had rested, his tears falling on her.

"Oh, god, Lisbon—I'm sorry," he says hurriedly.

She just pulls him against her again. "It's fine," she says. She runs one hand through his hair, and the other rubs soothing patterns on his back. He turns his face toward her neck and breathes her in.

She leans back against the pillows, pulling him with her, and he switches their positions so that his weight is not on top of her. Instead, he is sprawled out on the couch, her back pressed against his chest. His arms wrap around her waist tightly.

"I tried to find you after work today," she whispers, turning her head slightly to speak to him. "Cho called me. He said you visited Erica Flynn."

For a few seconds, the two of them are silent, and if he concentrates hard enough he swears he can hear her heartbeat.

"She messed with your head," adds Lisbon.

"I left work early," Jane confirms. No need to tell her he'd spent the last few hours driving numbly through downtown Sacramento.

"Are you okay?" Lisbon asks hesitantly.

He breathes in shakily, steeling himself to respond.

"Erica is working with Red John," he says, his tone devoid of emotion. "She told me what my wife and daughter smelled like the night he killed them in order to get me to believe her."

Lisbon grabs his hands, pulling his arms around her more completely. She leans into him. "My god." She pauses. "Why did she tell you that?"

"She wants me to help her escape. If I do so, she says Red John will reward me with information—possibly regarding his plans for you."

He feels her shiver, and he shifts closer so that his lips rest at the nape of her neck.

"So you're going to help her? Even if she wants to help Red John in turn?" Lisbon's voice is small but strong.

Jane doesn't hesitate in responding. "If her information can help you, it's worth any price."

Lisbon doesn't hesitate either. "No, it's not," she says. "Jane, we put her away! You can't honestly be considering this—she killed her husband!"

"It's not like I'm thrilled with the idea, Lisbon," says Jane irritably. "If it were up to me, she'd rot in jail."

"Then let her! There's no guarantee whatever information she has will be useful to you."

" _Lisbon."_

She shifts to face him in order to glare at him. "Patrick Jane, _don't you dare_. You will not, under any circumstances, help her return to Red John."

Jane doesn't make her any promises, but he concedes.

For now.

Lisbon moves suddenly, and he lets his arms fall from her as she stands up. But then she reaches out for him with one hand. He looks at her in confusion.

"Come on," she says not at all shyly, meeting his eye with determination, and she pulls him to his feet as well. "You're not sleeping at that dreadful motel or on this couch tonight."

She leads him up the stairs and into her bedroom, and he knows he still has a perplexed look on his face. "Shoes off," she says, and he does as she says as she divests him of his suit jacket and vest. "Get in," she says quietly, indicating to her bed, and she moves around him to grab an oversized t-shirt from the dresser. She heads to the adjoining bathroom to change, and he steps toward the bed as if in a trance.

He's under the covers by the time she returns, and she flips off the lights before joining him.

She reaches for him automatically.

As he lays there in her arms, the last of the tremors leave his body.


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: I know I say this nearly every chapter, but I was seriously gobsmacked by the really kind reviews left for the last chapter. It makes me realize how lucky I am to have found this fandom. Thank you all!**

 **PS: This is another of my favorite chapters (especially the ending).**

 **(And I blatantly borrowed a line from Jane Austen.)**

* * *

As it turns out, having Lisbon sleep next to him is far better treatment for his insomnia than any drug.

Jane wakes up just before dawn the next morning, feeling dazed and slightly hungover from the emotional upheaval of the day before. He immediately notices a warm weight across his abdomen, and he looks down to find Lisbon's arm slung over him, her delicate fingertips touching the bare skin above his hip where his shirt has ridden up. She breathes softly but deeply next to him, and he turns his head on the pillow to look over at her.

She's lying on her stomach, her other arm beneath the pillow. Her face is toward him, and he takes a moment to study her.

He'd catalogued her face long ago, of course. He'd long since memorized every curve of her body. But he has so few opportunities to simply watch her.

He savors this.

It suddenly occurs to him that falling in love the second time around has been completely different from the first.

With Angela, he'd known it was love at first sight. And it was glorious—everything a first love was supposed to be. Neither of them had yet to become jaded by the world. He had no reason to believe loving her could end in anything but ecstasy.

It wasn't that way with Lisbon.

He hadn't seen their future together flash before his eyes the moment they'd met. Instead, he'd fallen little by little, moving toward her in infinitesimally small steps. He'd been somewhere in the middle before he'd realized he'd begun.

And he is more careful now. He realizes how fragile life is—how easy it would be to lose the woman sleeping next to him.

So he savors this. He savors Lisbon in a way he hadn't been capable of with Angela—because he'd been too arrogant, assuming they'd have the rest of their lives with one another.

He doesn't take this for granted with Lisbon.

A thought occurs to him.

What the hell is he waiting for, then? He loves her, and he's fairly certain that she feels the same way, if her actions toward him the past few days are any indication. And he of all people knows life is too short to waste time. It would be only too easy to lean over, to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth…

Her fingers move slightly on his hip, and he smiles. God, how is it possible that she makes him so happy even in her sleep?

 _Happy_.

He frowns.

And there's his answer.

He could never make her happy. After all, he's carrying around two ghosts with him wherever he goes. Not to mention the threat of a serial killer. And he very likely will have these three phantoms with him for the rest of his life.

He can't subject her to that.

Yes, he'd been right to keep quiet. Let her fall in love with someone else. Someone whole. Even if that would kill him a little, it would be best for her.

 _Anyone who gets close to me—bad things happen to them._

He shifts to pull away from her, to get out of bed, and her hand falls from his hip. Lisbon mumbles something in her sleep, her tone troubled, and Jane freezes, his hand on the sheets to throw them off him.

He looks at her face and sees the crinkles on her forehead between her eyes. "Mmmm…Jane, no," she says quietly, her words muffled by the pillow.

Jane sighs and slides back into bed.

He may not be good for her, but he can't refuse her.

She reaches for him instinctively, and he hesitantly shifts to move an arm underneath her. Then he pulls her toward him, settling her head on his chest and wishing with every fiber of his being that things could be different.

* * *

"Have you seen my cross necklace?" asks Lisbon from up the stairs.

She's getting ready for work, and he's raiding her tea collection in the kitchen. He makes a note to himself to buy her some proper teabags. Lipton simply will not cut it.

"Sorry, no," says Jane, raising his voice slightly so she can hear him, and he's struck suddenly by the feeling of domesticity.

It's a warm feeling, almost a glow within him. He'd missed that—having a place to really call home. Having _someone_ be part of that home.

The glow is immediately extinguished when he remembers the guilt he'd felt this morning upon waking up with her.

She's not his home. He won't allow her to be.

He dumps out the last of his tea in her sink and slips out her front door just as she begins to descend the stairs.

* * *

Jane becomes better at keeping his distance over the next few days.

Though there are several moments when he catches himself reaching for his cell phone to send her a quick text, he becomes paralyzed every time, his mind at war with his soul.

Rational thought tells him what he already knows—he cannot make her happy. He cannot keep her safe.

In spite of this, his soul begs for the chance to try.

So, late Friday night he finds himself holed up in his motel room, trying to find a show that doesn't involve some romantic subplot. He eventually lands on a program about ancient aliens, thinking that, at least, should be safe.

There's a loud knock at his door.

"Jane?"

It's Lisbon's voice, sounding slightly unsure. His brow furrows. She's never showed up at his motel room before—does she have bad news?

He rolls off the bed and strides to the door. When he opens it, he finds himself at a loss for words.

Lisbon is wearing black jeans that leave nothing to be imagined about the contours of her lower body, and her flowing blouse is nearly the precise color of her eyes, which appear more striking than usual thanks to the darker makeup around them. Her hair is pulled into an elegant knot at the base of her neck, and the soft shade of pink lipstick she's wearing directs his attention to her mouth.

She's gorgeous.

After staring at her stupidly for a few seconds, he pulls himself together. "Lisbon," he says. Suddenly, an irrational, white-hot feeling begins to build inside him, and he realizes he's feeling jealous. Had she just been on a date?

"Hey," she says, blinking nervously. "I hoped I'd find you here."

Jane is still having difficulties forming coherent sentences. "Here I am," he says, obviously, and he cringes. Then he blurts out, "I didn't know you had a date tonight."

She gives him a confused look. "What?"

He gestures to her. "You clearly spent some time on your appearance," he notes. He is babbling, but he can't seem to stop. "Your hair, your makeup, your clothes—you look incredible, by the way—and I can't think of any reason for you to go through all that effort unless you'd planned on going on a date."

She flushes immediately. "I...um, I didn't," she says. "Go on a date, that is. I just thought—well, both of us have had a pretty shitty week, and we deserved a reprieve."

Oh.

Jane just stands there, feeling like a complete idiot.

She'd dressed up for him.

Lisbon looks at him hopefully. "What do you say?" she asks. "Want to get out of here for a while?"

He wastes no time in answering her, squashing down his rational voice and letting his soul speak for once.

"God yes," he says, and he follows her to her car.

* * *

They end up going to a theater on the other side of town that only plays old movies. Though the venue has clearly seen better days, it's still charming with its bright marquee lights and red velvet seats. They have the entire theater to themselves.

Partway through _An Affair to Remember_ , as the cruise ship pulls into New York Harbor, Lisbon leans over to him. "Have you ever been to New York?" she asks him quietly.

He nods, still looking at the screen but very aware that she is looking at him. "Once," he says, trying to keep his tone light.

She notices. "What were you just thinking about?" Lisbon asks. "Your eyes hardened for a second."

"I had a client who flew Angela and I out there," Jane says. He looks over at Lisbon. The light from the screen makes her look even more pale than usual. "We found out she was pregnant on that trip."

He watches as her eyes become sad. "I'm sorry," she says. "I didn't..."

Jane takes her hand. "It's okay," he says, squeezing her fingers. "Really, I'm okay." He gives her a sad smile. "What about you? Have you ever been to New York?"

She shrugs, clearly still a little uncomfortable. "I've never been much for traveling," she says with false nonchalance. He knows immediately that though she doesn't travel outside the state much, it isn't for lack of interest.

Rather, Lisbon has been far too busy placing the safety of California citizens above her desire for travel.

"I'll take you," he promises. "We can catch a hockey game at Madison Square Garden—you like hockey, right?"

Lisbon smiles softly at him. "I love hockey," she says. She hesitates, as though weighing her next words. "We could go see an opera or a ballet, if you want."

He grins, knowing very well that she would find either of those things dreadful. He is touched, though—clearly she offered because she thought it would be something _he'd_ enjoy. "How about a musical?" he suggests instead, hoping this would be more in line with her tastes.

"Deal," she says, and suddenly the movie in front of them is the very farthest thing from their minds.

* * *

A couple hours later, she walks him to the door of his motel room, as though worried he won't get there safely without her presence. He smiles to himself.

The light has burnt out above his door, so they stand there facing each other in the darkness. "Thank you, Lisbon," he says, holding her gaze. "For tonight. For everything."

She's silent for a beat.

"I hate not working with you," she blurts out suddenly. "I miss not seeing you every day."

"I miss that too."

This is an understatement. How much of an understatement, he can't bring himself to admit.

He takes a step toward her, letting his hand come to rest on her hip. She looks up at him, her eyes wide with half fear and half wonder.

He reaches out to cup her face with his other hand, and her eyes flutter closed. His eyes drop to her lips.

Suddenly, he catches the outline of a dark shape by their feet. When he realizes what it is, he wraps his arms around Lisbon and picks her up slightly to jerk them both quickly away, as though the surface they'd been standing on was made of quicksand.

Or lava.

He begins to breathe heavily, and he finds he can't loosen his grip around Lisbon's waist. One of her hands rests on his chest, and he knows she can feel his heart beating erratically.

"Jane?" she asks, her voice unsure. Then she looks over to where they'd been standing.

The light suddenly flickers on, revealing a freshly painted red smiley face on the ground in front of Jane's motel room.


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: Glad you all liked the last chapter! I promised to update quickly to make up for the cliffhanger, so here we go.**

 **Also, kudos to butterfrostcupcake for totally calling a twist in this chapter.**

 **And I borrowed a quote from Charles Dickens as well.**

* * *

Lisbon immediately pulls Jane behind her, and she reaches into her jacket to grab her gun. She gestures with her head, which Jane takes to mean _stay behind but near_ , and he readily obliges.

His door is unlocked.

She clears the room quickly, and they find no body. Jane breathes deeply. He'd been almost positive that Red John had killed again.

Lisbon shuts the door and locks it behind her as she digs out her phone. She says a few words to Cho then hangs up.

"Why leave the mark?" Lisbon asks, holstering her gun. Jane's eyes are immediately drawn to her soft pink lipstick, and it occurs to him that if it weren't for Red John, he'd probably be wearing some of it right now.

He shakes himself, pushing the thought away.

"I don't know," he says, catching her eye.

Lisbon begins to pace across the room, and Jane watches her from his place by the sink.

"And why leave the mark here? At your motel?"

That is easier to answer. "He was watching us," says Jane.

Lisbon whirls around to face him. " _What?_ "

"He must have been watching us," Jane says again. "He knew I left with you and that we took your car. He knew you'd come back here to drop me off. He knew we'd be together when I found the mark."

"Is this because you refused to help Erica escape from prison?"

"I'm guessing the two events are not unrelated," agrees Jane. "But there's probably more to it than that."

Lisbon doesn't say anything for a while, but she resumes pacing. Suddenly she sits down on the end of the bed.

Jane joins her.

They are silent for a few minutes. Jane is reminded of a moment a few years ago when they sat just like this, at the end of a bed in another motel room, also the victim of one of Red John's games.

"He was watching us?" Lisbon asks, her voice sounding hoarse. "Do you think he was watching when we returned?"

She won't like his answer, but he's determined to be honest with her. "Yeah, I think he was—after all, our reaction would have been the most rewarding part, right?"

Lisbon looks at him tentatively. "Will that change things?" she asks in a whisper. "We…we almost…if he saw…"

Jane looks away. "Nothing he saw tonight told him more than he already knew," he murmurs, and he watches out of the corner of his eye as Lisbon's brow furrows in confusion.

She opens her mouth to ask for clarification, but a knock on the door signal's Cho's arrival, and, like smoke, the moment slips through their fingers.

* * *

Since Red John's only crime has been defacing private property, there's not much Cho can do for them. He takes a few pictures and gets a sample of the blood, but he's soon on his way.

When the door shuts behind him, Lisbon turns to Jane. "You're not planning on staying here, are you?"

He shakes his head. "No, Lisbon," he says. "I'll go to a real hotel—one where you can't access the rooms from the outside."

"Thank you," she says. She waits while he packs up some of his meager possessions, giving him a look the whole time. He knows very well what she's thinking.

"Just say it, Lisbon." He zips up his bag and looks up at her.

"Don't you think it's time for you to start putting down roots here?" Her voice is quiet but firm, and she holds his gaze. "Get an apartment—or a house, even. I'll help you look, if you want."

He chooses not to answer this, instead lifting the strap of the bag onto his shoulder, and he walks past her. Like lightning, her hand shoots out to grab his forearm, and she pulls him back. "Jane," she says, her tone insistent.

He turns to face her reluctantly, and he wonders how it's possible that something so perfect can tolerate being so near something that's so…not.

Jane shifts the strap of the bag slightly as he says, "The more I build here, the more I stand to lose."

She gapes at him for a few seconds, clearly at a loss as to how to respond.

Jane continues. "I built a home once, Lisbon. And look at what that cost the people who happened to be in that home."

"How many times do I have to tell you that what happened that night wasn't your fault?" There is an edge of irritation to her voice, and he understands why—they've had this argument many times before.

"Maybe it wasn't," he says. "But I don't think I'll ever be convinced."

Lisbon glares at him, and he can see she's steeling herself to begin arguing again. He cuts her off.

"It's almost midnight, Teresa. Cinderella needs to get home before the clock strikes twelve." He grabs her hand. "Come on."

As he'd intended, the unexpected use of her first name throws her off balance, and she follows him without another word.

* * *

On Monday afternoon, the team gets another call, and Jane feels bile rise in his throat when he hears where the body was found.

The old cinema.

Grace notices his reaction first. "Jane?" she asks, standing up from her desk as he sits down quickly on his couch, his head spinning. "What is it? Do you know something about the case?"

Rigsby and Cho come to stand next to them as well, but Jane focuses on Grace. "It's Red John."

"You know that from the location?" asks Rigsby, his tone skeptical.

Jane looks down at the ground. "Lisbon and I saw a movie there on Friday night—right before we came back to find Red John's mark on the ground in front of my motel room."

Though Grace and Rigsby had heard from Cho about the mark left by Red John at the motel, Jane immediately knows from their expressions that Cho hadn't told them Lisbon had been with him. Grace and Rigsby exchange a glance. Jane wonders if one of them just lost a bet.

Probably Rigsby, he thinks.

Jane stands up. "Let's go," he says, leading the way out of the bullpen.

* * *

The scene is like all of the others—except for one thing.

The victim is wearing Lisbon's cross necklace.

* * *

"Patrick," says Erica, looking up at him in surprise, though Jane knows she's not surprised at all.

Jane looks in on Erica's cell, taking in how the matchmaker sits regally on her mattress as though it's a throne. Her cellmate watches them, intrigued, as Erica stands up and walks over to the bars.

She glances to Jane's side. "Grace," she says. "It's good to see you as well."

Grace doesn't respond, but her hard, blazing look conveys a thousand emotions.

"Three murders in two weeks," says Jane in a low, barely-controlled voice. " _What is he planning?_ " He grips the bars of the cell, barely noticing that his knuckles have turned white.

"Get me out of here," says Erica, and like Jane, her voice is low—but _unlike_ Jane, her tone is seductive and suggestive, and Jane wants to flinch away when she rests her hands on top of his. But he is desperate, and terrified, and if Red John is planning for Lisbon to be his fourth victim…

Jane doesn't think he can survive having three people's lives on his conscience.

* * *

Apart from Lisbon, Jane had told no one on the team the actual details of his earlier conversation with Erica. Instead, he'd twisted the story slightly, saying Erica was offering to help with the most recent Red John cases in exchange for a few days out of prison.

He hadn't been lying.

Perhaps this is why Cho agrees to the plan. So, three hours after his most recent encounter with Erica in jail, Jane walks with her into the CBI building, Grace right behind them.

Erica asks to use the restroom, and Grace accompanies her. Jane waits in Lisbon's office, the blinds drawn shut, and three minutes later, Grace shows Erica in. The redhead leaves quickly, giving Jane a look before the door swings shut behind her.

Erica turns toward Jane, who's perched on the armrest of Lisbon's couch. He narrows his eyes at her. She's changed out of her orange jumpsuit into an impossibly tight skirt with a suggestive cut up the side to reveal a good portion of her thigh, and the dark red of her blouse is the precise shade of the victim's blood from that morning.

"I got you out," says Jane unnecessarily. "Your turn."

Erica walks over to him and sits down on the couch. "You really haven't figured it out yet?" she asks, amused.

"If I had, you wouldn't be here," Jane points out.

"Love has dulled your mind, Patrick. Months ago, you would have seen the answer very clearly."

Jane ignores this. "What does he have on you?" he asks instead. "Why are you working for him?"

She bristles at this, just as he'd thought she would. "I do not work _for_ anyone," Erica says. "In fact, I was the one who suggested our arrangement. He was different than all the others—his mind, rather than his looks, was what drew me to him. I've never made such a perfect match in all my time as a matchmaker."

Jane files this information away. "So that's why he wants you out of prison? You're a couple?"

"We have a...nontraditional relationship, but I suppose one could call us that. But actually, having you get me out of jail served another purpose."

"Which was?"

"To make it that much easier for you to despise what you see when you look in the mirror."

Jane tries to ignore this but doesn't completely succeed. "Red John promised me information," he says finally.

Erica nods. "And he keeps his promises," she says. She clears her throat. "Much like yourself, Red John is a romantic. He is pleased when a couple finally comes together." She smiles. "It's one reason why he and I were meant for each other."

Jane taps his fingers against his thigh in annoyance. "Erica, I'm not interested in hearing about your affair with Red John."

"You'll want to hear this, Patrick," Erica says. She continues. "Red John is pleased that you've found Teresa—that you've fallen in love with her. But he sends his deepest condolences to you."

Jane looks at her incredulously. "And why is that?"

Erica smirks. "After he is through with her, Teresa will not be capable of returning your feelings."

As hard as he tries, Jane cannot stop the ice-like dread that settles in his chest.

"What do you mean?" he says quietly.

Erica reaches over to grab his hand. "He's going to destroy her, Patrick—just as he did to you back in Malibu. She won't be able to feel love or to return it for quite some time. Perhaps not ever again." She rubs her thumb over his knuckles, and Jane has to force himself to remain still. "But you can prevent all that from happening."

"How?" Jane winces at the desperation in his voice. The look Erica wears tells him she's noticed it, too.

"Red John is offering you an olive branch," she says. "He wants to extend an offer of friendship."

Jane laughs sharply. "The chances of that happening are less than zero."

"I wouldn't be so sure, Patrick. Red John looks out for his friends—and, by extension, their significant others."

Jane lets out a breath as he ponders this. "You're saying that Red John would stop targeting Lisbon if I accepted his friendship."

Erica moves their clasped hands to her thigh. "Well, there's more to it than that, of course. He'd expect something from you in return, in exchange for his...generosity."

Jane stands up suddenly. Though he can't deny the offer is tempting, he doesn't need to hear any more. "Deliver a message to Red John for me—whatever his game is, I won't allow Lisbon anywhere _near_ it."

Though Erica is looking up at him, she still clearly has the upper ground. "I'm afraid it's too late for that, Patrick." She smiles at him in pity. "You see, you brought her into it."

Jane hesitates, calculating.

Then he hears Lisbon's voice in his head.

She is his conscience, and he listens to her.

"I will never be Red John's friend," he says roughly.

Erica stands up, chuckling. "He said you'd say that, Patrick," she says. "But he also said you'd come to change your mind. When you do, reach out to me. I'll get you in touch with him; the offer will still stand."

He feels her slip a hand into his suit coat, knows she's tucked a small piece of paper into his vest.

Erica slides her hand up his arm to rest on his shoulder. She gives him another wicked smile. "Who would have thought, all those years ago when you appeared on that television show, that you were not only condemning your wife and daughter but also an innocent woman who you had not yet met?"

Jane's hands begin to shake, and he realizes vaguely it's because the rest of him is shaking as well. Erica steps toward him and leans in to whisper in his ear. "The agony is exquisite, is it not?" she says. "A broken heart. You think you will die. But you just keep living. Day after day." She breathes deeply, her breath hot on his skin. "After terrible day."

Jane is too wired to notice that she reaches into her blouse as she speaks. Suddenly, her arm moves toward his neck, and he feels a sharp pinprick. He groans, and she pulls back slightly, a needle in her hand. He wants to yell out, but he feels himself panicking, and Erica guides him to the couch as his muscles begin to give out on him.

She lays him down, posing him like a damsel in a fairy tale, and says, "I can't have you coming after me, can I?" She runs a hand through his hair almost lovingly, and if his muscles were functioning, he would have pulled himself away in disgust.

Just as his eyes close, he feels Erica lean in closer, feels her lips press against the hollow of his neck. Her teeth scrape against his skin.

Then there is darkness.


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: So I was going to apologize for last chapter's cliffhanger, but then I realized that this chapter also ends that way. Must be the nature of this story. At any rate, thanks for the encouraging reviews - they keep me motivated!**

 **Also, I just wanted to let you all know that I will be on holiday for the next five or so weeks with possibly iffy access to wifi. I will try to keep updating at least once a week, but don't be surprised if updates aren't as usual as they have been!**

* * *

Jane's eyes flash open, and his body jerks forward.

A very strong, warm pair of hands grab his shoulders and coax him to lean back. He looks over, and the first thing he sees is Lisbon's bright green eyes. Immediately, he knows she is equal parts concerned for him and pissed at him, though the latter appears to be winning out.

His eyes dart around, taking in the dreary hospital room, and he lets Lisbon guide him back to rest against the pillows. When he looks out the window, he realizes whatever Erica injected him with knocked him out for several hours—it's now late evening at the very earliest.

Jane meets Lisbon's eyes. Her expression hardens.

"What the hell were you thinking?" she asks furiously, and her question almost sounds like a hiss.

"You're upset." It's stupid, but Jane's mind still feels a bit addled from the drugs. He's impressed he managed to string the two words together at all.

Lisbon stands up, vacating her spot on the edge of Jane's bed. She keeps her arms tightly by her sides, but Jane can see the tension that's running through them. Her hands clench into fists.

"Oh, yeah," she says. "Honestly, Jane—how can you not see that this feels like a betrayal to me? _You helped a murderer escape from prison for crying out loud!_ And, I might add, you did so after I _explicitly_ told you not to!"

Jane closes his eyes for a few seconds, attempting every biofeedback trick he's aware of in order to rid his mind of the drug's haziness. He doesn't completely succeed, but now the whiteout is more like fog, and this he can navigate.

"You have to know why I did it," says Jane weakly. "Lisbon, come on—didn't Cho tell you about your necklace?"

Lisbon crosses her arms over her chest. "Yeah, he did," she says. "It's in evidence now. I'm not sure I want it back."

Jane's gaze is imploring. "Have you thought about how your necklace ended up on a corpse, Lisbon?"

Lisbon shivers, though she tries to hide this. "I haven't let myself think about that, no."

He sits up, trying to lessen the distance between them. "When was the last time you saw your necklace?"

"The night you stayed over," she admits. "I remember putting it in my jewelry box on the dresser—because I felt you watching me while I did so."

"That's the last time I saw it, too," Jane says. "And then, the next morning, you couldn't find it."

Lisbon closes her eyes, as though this will allow her to tune out Jane's next words.

"He was there, Lisbon," Jane says, his voice wavering slightly as he fights to keep it under control. "He was in your bedroom that night. He _saw_ us. He saw us together."

"How could we not have woken up?" she says, her voice low.

"I'm normally a light sleeper," Jane agrees. "But that night I was emotionally strung out. And that stressed you out. Once we got to sleep, we slept soundly."

Lisbon opens her eyes, and Jane's hands begin to shake. He watches as she takes note of this, her expression finally softening, and she steps toward him, perching again on the side of his bed.

"You know why I helped her escape," Jane says.

"Explain it to me anyway."

"Red John was in the same room as us. He could have killed us— _he could have killed you_." Jane reaches over to grab her hand, and he is relieved when she lets him. "I needed to know everything I could to make sure that didn't happen. And as of this afternoon, Erica was my best means of doing so."

Lisbon considers this, and she takes her time in responding. "I understand," she eventually says. "But that doesn't change the fact that I am _extremely_ pissed at you. Not to mention hurt. In fact, it's taking a massive amount of effort for me to refrain from punching you in the nose right now. And a few other places where it might hurt more."

This is probably the best Jane will get, so he nods, grateful. "She got away, then?"

"Nobody's quite sure how," Lisbon admits. "Security cameras went out for a few minutes, and apparently Bertram stopped by to talk about the team's new recruit when you were in my office with Erica. Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt had to give him their full attention—otherwise he would have realized something was up. Cho said they turned their backs for one minute then went to check on you…at which time, you were already lying unconscious on the couch. Van Pelt had managed to slip a GPS device in one of Erica's pockets, but she had already located it and destroyed it by the time the team tried to track her."

"Damn it," Jane murmurs under his breath.

"Yeah," says Lisbon, her tone unforgiving. "I wouldn't be surprised if the team joined me on entrance security. Clever plan you had there, Jane—not only putting people's lives in danger but their jobs as well. Nicely done."

Her words sting more than he cares to admit, but he knows he deserves every one of them, so he takes them in silence.

Lisbon gives him a look. "What the hell went on between you and Erica anyway?"

Jane's eyes narrow at her tone. It seems almost…jealous. "What do you mean?"

Lisbon's gaze flashes to his neck, and Jane's hand immediately goes to the skin there, which is slightly raw to his touch.

"Damn it," he says.

Erica left a hickey.

And in plain view, knowing full well Lisbon would see.

Lisbon averts her eyes. "You also have some lipstick…" She trails off, indicating with her hands to the general area on his neck where the telltale red mark remains.

Jane is livid. "She bit me after she injected me with the needle," he explains.

Lisbon looks like she'd rather be just about anywhere in the world than having this conversation. "Did you at least get any information out of her?"

Their eyes finally meet. "Red John was a client of hers," he says. "That's how they met. She told me he was different than all the others—meaning the people she tried to play matchmaker for."

Lisbon nods. "It's a start," she says.

Then she looks out the window, clearly still uncomfortable. Jane squeezes her hand to bring her attention back to him, and he shifts under the scratchy hospital blankets.

"Run away with me," he pleads.

This gets Lisbon's attention. " _What?_ "

"Erica told me that Red John is focusing on you."

Her eyes become wide, and she swallows.

"He's planning to kill me," she whispers.

Jane shakes his head. "No," he says. "But Erica made it sound as though I'd prefer it if he did—as though what he actually has planned for you is far worse." Jane tugs on Lisbon's hand slightly, and she leans toward him. "She quoted Charles Dickens. 'The agony is exquisite, is it not? A broken heart. You think you will die. But you just keep living. Day after day, after terrible day.'"

"She meant you," says Lisbon, understanding. "You'll have to watch as Red John targets me. That's what she meant, right?"

"Run away with me," he says again. If he weren't in this damn bed, he'd be on his knees, begging her to listen to him.

She stares at him a long time, considering. His heart races.

"Jane," says Lisbon finally. "You know I can't."

He does, but this doesn't make the rejection ache any less.

* * *

For the next month, they try to pretend everything isn't falling apart.

But even Jane cannot sell this act.

* * *

Every morning, he wakes up terrified that she won't do the same. Every night he lies in bed for hours, wishing that she was next to him, that he could just roll over to check if she was breathing.

Every night for twenty-nine nights, he has to stop himself from getting in his car and driving across the city to check on her.

Of course, he knows his presence would do little to deter Red John had his intention actually been to kill her. He's well aware that if Red John wanted Lisbon dead, she would be.

The first time this thought occurred to him, he barely made it to the bathroom before emptying the meager contents of his stomach into the toilet in his motel room.

But Lisbon is still very much alive.

This, of course, implies that Erica had told him the truth: Red John has no desire to kill Lisbon.

Jane pushes away dark thoughts detailing what Red John actually has planned for her. He sinks onto the mattress in his motel room, shrugging out of his suit jacket and unbuttoning his vest.

Red John hasn't killed in twenty-nine days.

Jane knows he is purposely lying low, building anticipation. It's certainly working—Jane feels himself slowly going mad at the sheer agony of the unknown. In the meantime, as he waits for the other shoe to drop, Jane has to restrain himself from hovering over Lisbon, knowing that will make her go equally crazy. But it's difficult: a part of him wants to handcuff himself to her so that he can keep an eye on her at all times.

This wouldn't stop Red John, of course.

Jane searches for a mental distraction, hopelessly looking for some light to scatter the dark.

He lands on his latest memory of Lisbon. She'd suggested they go bowling, and he remembers how distinctly odd it felt to be sitting next to her at the lane.

On his turn, the ball had rolled three feet before promptly falling into the gutter. After Lisbon had subdued her laughter, she'd shown him how to roll the ball, guiding his arm with her own.

He'd at least hit some of the pins on the next try.

But underlying the whole occasion was a tension. They didn't acknowledge it, but it was clear that three people rather than two were involved in whatever relationship they had.

Whatever they do, they cannot seem to get away from Red John's presence.

Dusk is just beginning to fall outside now, and the motel room soon becomes dark. Jane stands up to walk over to the sink, and he splashes water on his face. He's just reaching to take off his vest when his phone rings, the caller ID showing Lisbon's name.

He answers immediately.

"Lisbon," he says, trying to make his tone light. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She doesn't respond right away, but he can hear her breathing. It's ragged and rushed, and immediately he knows something is _very_ wrong.

"Lisbon?" he says again.

"Jane," she whispers. Her breath hitches. "I…I need you."

Jane feels his world start to spiral away, out of control, but he steels himself.

"I'll be there as soon as I can."

* * *

When she fails to answer her door after Jane knocks several times, he grows more anxious. He slips his lock picks out of his pocket and lets himself inside, making sure to lock the door behind him.

It's now close to ten o'clock, and her apartment is dark. Suddenly he hears a soft sound coming from upstairs, and as he clears the staircase—taking the stairs two at a time—he realizes it's the sound of running water. He notices the door to the bathroom is shut, but there's no hint of light shining out from underneath.

Jane's brow furrows. _What the hell?_

His stomach lurches. Whatever he finds inside that door, he knows it won't be good news.

"Lisbon?" asks Jane softly, knocking on the door with his knuckles. There's no answer.

Jane's heart beats roughly, painfully, and he cannot take it any longer—he opens the door and immediately reaches for the light switch.

Light floods the small room, reflecting off of all the silvery surfaces, including the edges of the shower door. Jane walks slowly toward it, wading through the vapor from the shower—the source of the sound of running water.

He can see an outline of a small body through the door. It's not moving though, and Jane is immediately transported back a decade—to another door he wish he had never opened.

Jane wrenches open the shower door.

Lisbon's bright green eyes are the first thing he sees. She's shivering, her arms wrapped around her naked body. "Lisbon?" asks Jane, his relief at seeing her alive belied by the fact that she is obviously _not_ alright.

"I'm cold," she says, shaking around the words, and Jane reaches to shut the shower off. The water runs over his arm, soaking his sleeve, but he's already grabbing a towel and wrapping it around Lisbon. He makes her hold the edges of the towel to keep it from falling as he grabs another, using this one to rid her hair of most of the excess water. Then he kneels down to dry her legs.

Jane guides Lisbon out of the shower, and they both drip water onto the tiled floor as they walk into the hallway and toward her room. Jane rummages through her dresser for a few minutes before finding an oversized jersey, and he makes her drop the towel so that he can slip it on over her head. Then he grabs a pair of socks and puts them over her feet.

She's still shivering like mad, and he walks her over to her bed in the semi-darkness of the room, guided only by the starlight coming in from the window. He gestures for her to crawl in, and she does so, looking slightly lost. Jane deposits his now-soaking vest and shirt on the floor and strides to the other side of the bed, sliding in next to her.

He pulls her immediately to his chest and begins rubbing his hands up and down her arms, trying to generate some friction.

"Jane," she whispers. "What's going on?"

 _I'd like to know that myself_ , he thinks. But instead he says, "You're in shock, Lisbon. Just concentrate on getting warm, okay?"

She rests her fingers on his chest, and he nearly flinches at how frigid they are. "My legs are freezing," she mumbles, burrowing her head into the hollow of his neck. Jane hooks one leg over both of hers, tangling their feet together, trying to increase the surface area of contact of their bodies.

After about fifteen minutes, Lisbon stops shaking.

In another five, she starts to cry.

Jane cradles her head, running his hands through her hair. "Lisbon," he says softly into her ear. "What happened?"

It takes her several attempts to get the words out. She stumbles through them, gasping for breath as she cries. Finally, she says, "I got a call from Karen."

Jane searches his memory palace. Eventually, he places the name—Karen is Lisbon's sister-in-law.

Stan's wife.

Suddenly, Jane can't breathe.

"No," he says quietly, and Erica was right—the agony is exquisite. "No—please, no."

Lisbon's hands snake around Jane's torso, pulling him impossibly closer. She takes another few gasping breaths, trying to get herself under control, but Jane knows this is no use.

" _He's gone_ ," she whispers. "Jane, he's gone."

Jane squeezes his eyes shut as the moisture rises in them, but he can't stop them from spilling over.

He doesn't know what to say—because nothing he can say will ever make this better. Nothing he can do will ever make Lisbon whole again.

So instead, he holds her as she sobs, and they spend their second night together hoping desperately for the first signs of morning.


	11. Chapter 11

**AN:** **Thanks for the brilliant response to last chapter! Hope you all enjoy this one as well. Updates will continue to be sporadic for a while, but I hope to post every week or so.**

* * *

Jane wakes to a bright sun behind his eyelids and the sensation of Lisbon's fingertips ghosting across his skin. He allows himself several seconds to memorize the feeling of waking up with her head on his bare chest, his arms around her.

He feels a teardrop land just underneath his collarbone, and he opens his eyes.

Jane has absolutely no idea what to say.

Her fingers trace the contours of his right arm, and as they move over his bicep, she says, "I keep expecting to wake up."

Jane remains silent. He's suddenly hyperaware of the fact that the blankets have fallen to his hips, leaving him naked from the waist up. This doesn't seem to bother Lisbon.

"This is a nightmare, right?" she asks, looking up at him with eyes rimmed in red. "Please tell me I'm going to wake up soon."

His breath catches, and she closes her eyes tightly. Despite this, several more tears slip out.

"I can't tell the difference," she says, dropping her head to his chest again. "I can't tell if this is real."

Jane's voice is rough with sleep as he answers. "Am I in your nightmares?" he asks.

"The majority of them focus on you bleeding out in my arms," she admits.

"But do I hold you like this in your nightmares?" he asks quietly.

She shakes her head, her hair tickling his skin.

"Then that's how you can tell. In real life, I'll be here to wake you up from your nightmares. You'll wake up in my arms."

She breathes out sharply, the tuft of air hot on his chest. "I don't think these nightmares will be going away anytime soon," she points out.

"Then neither will I."

As soon as the words are out, he knows he means them with everything he has.

There will be no more ridiculous attempts to push her away, to pretend she will be safer without him near. Maybe that would have been true once upon a time, in an alternate universe in which they had never met. But fate had forced them together. He'd fallen for her so gradually and naturally that he was in far too deep by the time Red John pointed this out to him, and by then the damage was irreversible.

If his feelings for Lisbon mark her as a target, he is determined to be her shield.

She gives him a look, and for the first time in his life, he can't read her—he has absolutely no idea what she's thinking. But this look soon disappears, replaced by one of obvious gratitude. Then she looks away, a rosy blush creeping up the side of her neck, and Jane can actually feel her skin heat against his.

"I need to be in Chicago," she says. "If there's anything I can do to help Karen—I need to be there for her." Lisbon closes her eyes again and rolls away, leaning back onto her own pillow. "Jane, my brother only called last week. He said they were going to try to have a baby."

She raises a shaking hand to her face and rubs at her eyes.

"I don't think I can do this," she whispers, rolling over more so that she's now facing away from him.

He shifts to press himself against her, his chest to her back. Tentatively, he places a hand on her hip.

"You don't have to do it alone," he points out. "Let me come with you."

She looks over her shoulder at him, surprised.

"Thank you," Lisbon breathes, like the weight of the world just lessened a bit on her shoulders. "I'd very much like it if you came."

He's somewhat surprised by how easily she gives in, but he doesn't question it.

"Then it's settled. Call Karen, and I'll book the flights and hotel, alright?"

Her hand reaches down to cover his own on her hip, and she squeezes his fingers lightly. "I never understood your obsession with Red John," she admits. "But now it makes more sense to me than breathing."

Jane's whole body tenses at the coldness in her voice.

"I hoped you never would understand," he finally says, after the tension in the room becomes too much. "I'd give anything so that you wouldn't."

She doesn't respond.

Sighing, Jane slips away from the bed, locating his phone and heading downstairs, moving toward the desk in the living room where he knows Lisbon's laptop is located. He shivers as the computer boots up, wondering vaguely where his discarded shirt and vest ended up.

He books the plane tickets quickly but hesitates when confirming the hotel—will Lisbon expect him to reserve separate rooms? He doesn't particularly like the thought of her spending the night alone after this latest trauma but knows she will probably insist that she will be fine without him.

In the end, he books a single room with two double beds, hoping this will be an acceptable compromise.

He shuts down the laptop and grabs his phone, dialing Cho's number.

Cho picks up immediately. "You with Lisbon?"

"Yes," says Jane. "So you heard?"

When Cho answers, there's a hint of emotion behind his words that surprises Jane. "It's all anyone can talk about here," he says, referring to the CBI. "Let her know she's been given a couple weeks' time off, will you?"

"Sure," says Jane. "Is the team flying out to Chicago to look into the possible Red John connection?"

"We just cleared it with Bertram," says Cho. "We're on the way to the airport now." He pauses for a second before continuing. "I didn't tell you this, but no one in Chicago will know that Lisbon's no longer the SAC."

Jane smiles sadly. "I'll tell her to bring her badge."

"How is she?"

"About how you'd expect," says Jane. "Thanks, Cho. I'll keep you updated."

"See you in Chicago."

The line goes dead.

* * *

Jane opens one eye, and the glaring red of the alarm clock reads _3:02 AM_. They'd gotten into Chicago late that night—far too late to call upon Karen. Instead, they'd headed to their hotel straight from the airport.

His fingers automatically reach for Lisbon, just as he had yesterday morning, but instead he just encounters empty space. He blinks, remembering that, as he'd predicted, she'd opted to sleep on the other bed.

He sits up, suddenly wide awake, and notices her sitting at the window, looking out into the night at the Chicago skyline in the distance.

"Lisbon?" he asks, concerned.

She doesn't answer him. Jane rubs a hand over his face and blinks several times, and Lisbon finally comes into focus. He feels his heart shatter all over again when he realizes her body is shaking with silent sobs.

"Teresa," he says faintly, slipping out of the covers to walk over to her. She doesn't resist when he shifts her slightly so that he can sit down and pull her onto his lap.

She continues to cry noiselessly, and he holds her more tightly with every passing minute. Finally, she inhales deeply yet shakily and rests her head against his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I didn't mean to wake you."

He moves one of his hands to her hip. "I'd rather you would," he admits. "I meant what I said this morning—I'm going to be beside you. I don't want you to go through this alone."

They are silent for a while before she nods against his chest.

Another minute passes.

Then she speaks softly, her voice almost inaudible. "Thank you," she says. "I don't know if I could do this without you holding me together."

Jane leans his head against hers and smiles slightly. "Quite a role reversal for us, huh?"

Lisbon chuckles. "Yeah." Then she reaches for his hand. "Jane," she says. "Can I ask you something?"

He tenses immediately, instinctively, though he's not sure exactly _why,_ but she hurries to reassure him.

"You don't have to answer," she murmurs, and he nods infinitesimally. She looks down at their joined hands and begins to speak. "What is it that Red John told you that's got you so freaked out?"

He gapes at her, stunned.

"It doesn't take a mentalist to figure it out, Jane," Lisbon explains. "You've been acting different ever since you spoke with him. I thought at first it might have been because of...of the bomb scare," she says, clearly trying to find the least threatening way to refer to when he'd found her unconscious with a bomb strapped to her chest. She continues. "But you've saved my life before and never acted this way, so I thought there must be another explanation. You meeting with Red John seemed the most likely."

Jane takes a deep breath. He's astounded that she has noticed this despite the horrors that life has thrown her way recently. Any other woman would have been consumed by grief, incapable of functioning completely. Yet Lisbon, even in the midst of her own emotional turmoil, is still finding ways to look after him.

He feels himself fall in love with her a little more.

"How have I been acting differently?" he asks, trying to gauge the situation.

She looks up at him, the red of the alarm clock reflected in her eyes. "I'm not sure I can explain it. It's just..." She trails off, considering her words carefully. "When you look at me these days, I'm reminded of the look you used to wear all those years ago, around the time we first met...whenever you'd talk about your wife."

This doesn't surprise Jane. He'd been head over heels in love with his wife back then (he _still_ loves her), and now he's head over heels in love with Lisbon.

"What did he tell you?" Lisbon asks again.

Jane feels his mask slide into place as he considers this.

Then he remembers the promise he made to himself that morning. No more running away from Lisbon. No more running.

He steels himself.

"He told me that I had fallen in love with you."

Lisbon hides her reaction well—the only sign of surprise on her face is a slightly raised eyebrow. "Is that true?" she asks.

"Of course it is."

He says this without hesitation, and he is pleased to see the soft smile that spreads across her face.

"I didn't realize it before he pointed it out," continues Jane. "But of course it's true. Lisbon, you have to know that."

"When were you planning on telling me?"

Jane sighs. "Lisbon, when could I? Red John was killing women who looked like you, then he got you demoted, and now…" he trails off, not knowing how to talk about the death of her brother quite yet. "At any rate, the timing was hardly right."

"You _were_ planning on telling me, though, weren't you?"

"I wanted to," Jane admits. "God, I hope you know how badly I wanted to. But also…"

She grabs his hand, urging him to continue.

"I couldn't bear it if you didn't feel the same way. What if I ruined everything we had? Lisbon, you are the most important thing in my life. I couldn't sacrifice that."

She gives him a curious look. Then her expression falls, and Jane's hopes do as well.

"The last thing I want to do is hurt you," she says slowly, gripping his hand tightly.

"I understand," Jane says quickly, feeling rejection sink in deep within him, traveling in his veins like a poison.

Lisbon shakes her head. "I don't think you do," she says. "I'm not saying 'no.' I'm saying 'not yet.'" He watches as a tear slides down her cheek. "I feel like I'm functioning on autopilot—it's like I'm a shell of a human being, an automaton. I'm not capable of being in a relationship right now. You deserve better, Patrick. And I want to give you that—someday. I want to do this justice." He wipes away more tears as they fall from her eyes. "I need to take care of myself before...before I make any major life changes."

Her words are like an antidote, chasing away the last remnants of the poison, and he tries to control his breathing. "Of course," he says. "Of course. Take all the time you need. But Lisbon, I don't want you to feel...obligated or anything. If this is not what you want, I'll understand." She squeezes his fingers, and he returns the pressure. "The most important thing to me is that you're in my life. Obviously you know how I'd prefer that condition to be met, but…I could never be unhappy being your friend."

She shifts so that they are face to face, and the intensity of her gaze leaves him breathless.

Then, before he knows exactly what is happening, before he can prepare, she touches her lips tenderly to his, framing his face in her hands.

His fingers automatically move to her hips to steady her against him, and suddenly he feels _alive_ for the first time in almost a decade. " _Lisbon_ ," he breathes, pulling her nearer, nearer, and she is the dearest thing in his sorry life.

He will never let her go.

She pulls back, brushing her lips against the corner of his mouth, his jaw. Her eyes sparkle.

"You only being my friend isn't really an option," she says, her expression stormy. "Because you became my everything a long time ago."


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: Thanks for the continued interest in this story! I hope you all enjoy this newest installment.**

* * *

Jane wakes up the next morning to the sound of the shower. He rolls over, shielding his eyes from the brilliant sunlight streaming through the window.

His cell phone begins to vibrate.

Groaning, Jane reaches for the cell, putting it against his ear as he accepts the call.

"Morning, Cho," he says.

Cho doesn't bother with greetings. "You had a chance to be briefed on the case yet?" he asks.

"No," he admits. "We weren't really capable of much beyond basic functioning yesterday."

"Fair enough," says Cho. "You planning on visiting Lisbon's family?"

"I think that's her plan, yes," Jane confirms. "However, I think it will be easier on her if I'm not with her while she attends to family members. I'd really just be intruding anyway."

"In that case, we could use your help at the scene this morning," Cho says. "We didn't get a chance to see it yesterday—we got to police headquarters too late. Autopsy is scheduled for this afternoon. Think you can convince Lisbon not to go if I promise to oversee it?"

Jane closes his eyes. "That might be a tough sell," he says. "But if it comes down to it, you're technically her superior now. You could order her not to attend."

"I'd rather it not come to that."

"Yeah, I figured." Jane lets out a breath. "I'll talk to her. At the very least, she'll want to see the scene."

"I have no problem with that. She'll probably be able to provide insights no one else could anyway."

"Agreed. Was he found at his house?"

"Bedroom. Karen got home late from a girls' night out and found him there."

Jane takes a moment to steady himself when he notices that his hand is shaking, causing the phone to quiver.

"Where is Karen staying now?"

"At her parents' house in the suburbs." His voice becomes muffled, and Jane thinks he must be speaking with Rigsby or Grace. "Listen, Jane—can you text me the address of the hotel you're staying at? We'll pick you up on the way so Lisbon can have the rental car to go see her family."

"Sure," Jane says. "See you soon."

When he ends the call, he hears Lisbon turn off the shower. He moves around the room, pulling on clothes and trying to mentally prepare himself for the day ahead.

It occurs to him that however much pain he is feeling, however much he wants to break down, to give into temptation and retreat into himself, it is nothing compared to the agony Lisbon must be going through. Though this is no comfort, it allows him to move forward.

She will need him today.

And he will be there for her.

Ten minutes later, Lisbon still hasn't opened the door to the bathroom, and Jane knocks softly.

"Lisbon?" he asks. "Is everything alright?"

When she doesn't respond, he tries the doorknob, relief flooding his veins when he finds it to be unlocked.

She is leaning against the sink, fully-clothed but hair still wet, her hands splayed across the counter. He watches as she takes several deep breaths. Then she looks at him.

Her eyes are dry but emotionless, and he doesn't know if this is a good or bad sign.

Lisbon reaches past him for the hairdryer, and he watches as she tames her natural waves and curls for her more typical straight style.

Eventually, she turns the hairdryer off, sets it down, and moves toward him. She gives him a sad smile then reaches up on her tiptoes to kiss the angle of his jaw.

He turns to watch her move past him. "Cho called," he says, and she glances at him over her shoulder. He relays the important parts of the conversation, describing the plans for the day, and she nods.

To his surprise, she agrees without protest when he asks her not to attend the autopsy. "I don't want to see it," she whispers, avoiding his eyes. He watches as she blinks rapidly, and he takes two steps toward her, coming to stand at her shoulder. "I don't want to remember my brother like that."

Jane grabs her hand and leans his head down to rest his forehead on her shoulder. She grips his fingers tightly.

They stay like that for several minutes before he feels her physically shake herself. "Cho is probably waiting for you," she says, moving away from him. "We should go."

She heads for the door, but he grabs her elbow. "My phone will be on all day," he says. "If you need anything, anything at all…"

"I know," she says, her eyes becoming watery again, and she turns away before he can see the tears fall.

* * *

Stan's home is small and a little dingy, a typical house for a newly-married couple. The living room and kitchen make up the ground floor; the upper floor is composed of the three bedrooms, one of which is currently sectioned off with yellow crime scene tape.

Exactly one hour after the team arrives at the house, so does Lisbon. Jane looks up from his place in the living room, surprised, as she opens the door.

"Hey," he says softly, and his eyes are drawn to the redness of her eyes and the shadows beneath them. He doesn't approach her, wondering if she wants a little distance.

She stares blankly at the entryway for a minute or so before she visibly comes back to herself. She closes the door behind her, catching sight of Jane, and she moves to his side. He turns away from the bookshelf he'd been examining to face her.

"How is Karen?"

Lisbon shrugs. "About as good as you'd expect. I actually felt like I was more of a hindrance than a help to her since she's got her parents around, so I decided I could be of more use here with the team."

Jane sighs. "I wish I had better news for you, but we haven't really found anything yet."

Despite everything that's happened, the corner of her mouth twitches up. "That's not something I hear from Patrick Jane every day."

"Statistically speaking, there will be times, however rarely they occur, when I fail to find anything useful," he says, and he is rewarded by another smile.

Suddenly, the smile disappears as her eyes lock onto the bookshelf in front of them. She kneels down, examining the bottom shelf, and looks up at him. "No one's removed anything from here?" she asks, gesturing to the empty spaces in the middle of the shelf.

Jane frowns. "Not that I'm aware," he says. "Why?"

Lisbon checks every shelf, clearly looking for something. When she doesn't find it, she looks at Jane out of the corner of her eye. "Before I moved out to California for college, I gave my brother all the photo albums that my mom had made documenting our childhoods." She tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "The only pictures I had of my mom were in those albums, and I was terrified that I would lose them in the move. Stan offered to take care of them, and whenever I came to visit, he'd always pull them out so we could look over them together." Her expression turns pained. "He kept them here," she says, gesturing to the shelf with the spaces again.

"Maybe he moved them," Jane says, his voice low. But he doesn't believe this, and he can tell Lisbon doesn't believe it either.

Lisbon immediately reaches into her pocket to grab her phone. She turns away as she dials Karen, and walks around to the kitchen to compose himself.

 _What the hell would Red John want with a bunch of photo albums?_

He rubs a hand over his face and returns to the living room as Lisbon is hanging up.

"Karen says they looked at the albums just last week—she remembers because that night they decided they wanted to try for a baby. She says she put them back on the shelf when they were done looking."

Seconds of silence pass, one after the other, and neither Jane nor Lisbon can figure out what to say.

Finally, Lisbon looks over at him. "Why?" she whispers. "Why did he take them?"

Jane feels helpless. "You know why," he says as the answer suddenly occurs to him.

It's a cop-out response, but he can't say the words out loud.

 _Red John took the albums because he knew losing them would hurt you_ , he thinks. _Nothing more, nothing less._

Lisbon nods.

There is movement from upstairs, and Jane looks up at the ceiling as it creaks. He hears Rigsby ask Grace a question before he returns his attention to Lisbon.

He is suddenly struck by how small she really is. Though Lisbon's toughness, her tenacity, and even her tenderness give her a larger-than-life quality, she is human.

Just like him.

"So this is what Erica meant?" Lisbon asks, and Jane takes a step forward. "This is what she meant when she told you that Red John would be targeting me?"

He can't speak, so he just nods.

"What if this is only the beginning?" she whispers.

Jane wants more than anything to reassure her, to tell her that the worst has passed—that the end is in sight for Red John.

But he can't force out the lie.

Instead, he reaches into his suit vest and pulls out an evidence bag. He hands the bag to Lisbon, and her quivering fingers cause it—and the piece of paper contained within—to shake.

"'Dear Ms. Lisbon,'" she reads, sounding as though she may hyperventilate. "'More to come. Send Patrick my regards.'" Her hands move slightly, but Jane moves faster, snatching away the note before she can crumple it up.

Instead, her hands clench around air.

"It's evidence, Lisbon," he says gently.

She inhales through her nose, turning away from him. "You and I both know there's not going to be anything of use to forensics on that note."

"We still have to check."

Her shoulders sag. "I know."

She turns her head toward him but looks at his shoes instead of his eyes. "Are you going to the autopsy this afternoon?"

"Do you want me to?"

She gives him a sharp nod. "I trust Cho," she says quietly, "but I don't want them to miss anything. You'll make sure that doesn't happen."

"Okay," he responds. He hates autopsies. Hates the smell, hates the doctors, hates the shining silver surfaces—but if Lisbon asked him to, he'd attend a hundred of them. "Are you going to be with someone during that time?"

She nods again. "Jimmy, Tommy, and Annabeth fly in this afternoon. I'm going to meet them at the airport." She scratches at her nose, sniffling slightly. "Call me when you're done?" she asks weakly.

"Of course."

Jane steps forward and reaches out to place his fingers underneath her chin, to tip her head up so that he can see her eyes. They are silent for almost a minute, just looking at each other.

"Don't let him get to you, Lisbon," Jane says finally. "Don't let him in."

But something breaks behind her eyes, and she pulls away from him to move upstairs.

"Too late," she whispers.


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: Thank you all again for being patient for updates as I'm on holiday. I love this chapter for a few reasons, and I hope you will as well. Happy reading!**

* * *

Jane had often wondered what it would be like to spend time with Lisbon's three brothers. He'd entertained visions of holiday get-togethers, of Christmases spent with an actual family for the first time in nearly a decade.

Never in his wildest dreams had he thought that the first time he'd be in the same room with all of Lisbon's siblings was at one of their funerals.

It has been just over a week since Jane had found Lisbon in the darkness of her apartment, shivering and in shock. Though the CBI team has been working Stan's case since that time, they have nothing to show for it save for the knowledge that Red John had taken a Lisbon family photo album from the crime scene.

And this, of course, won't lead the team to him.

Now, Jane sits in a pew near the aisle in the church in which Lisbon grew up. He watches Karen's shoulders shake in the row in front of him then looks away, toward the front of the church where Lisbon is beginning to speak. Her green gaze lands on him, and he marvels at the contrast of the color against the overwhelming black of the funeral.

"It feels dishonest, somehow," she begins, "to have to talk about Stan in a couple minutes—as though anything I could say here could accurately describe him or his life. Words aren't sufficient to convey what I want them to."

Lisbon's voice catches, and Jane watches as a tear slips down her cheek. She doesn't wipe it away but continues speaking without paying it any notice, addressing the packed church with a steady, clear tone.

"After our mother died, I knew I wanted to become a cop. Stan was the only person who encouraged me to do so from the very beginning. If it hadn't been for his encouragement, I wouldn't have had the courage to follow through. And Stan was like that with everyone—one of his greatest qualities was the support he showed for his family and his friends."

Lisbon takes a steadying breath, glancing at Jane again, and he gives her a tiny nod of encouragement. _Come on, Lisbon. You got this._

"Stan was my best friend growing up," Lisbon continues. "Some of my favorite memories of my childhood involve us sneaking into the family room after our bedtime to watch the Bears or the Cubs play late night games on TV." She smiles slightly at this, gazing off in the distance before she redirects her attention back to the people lining the pews. "I missed him every day when I moved away from Chicago. And I'll…I'll miss him…"

She trails off at this, trying to form words but not quite able to. Jane watches her struggle for control, taking deep breaths and wiping at her eyes, and he wants to rush toward her, to envelop her in his arms, but he forces himself to remain in the pew.

"I'll miss him every day for the rest of my life," Lisbon whispers, blinking more tears away, and she nearly runs down the steps of the alter, clearly eager to be out of the spotlight. Jane opens his arm, scooting over slightly on the bench, and Lisbon sits next to him, immediately hiding her face in the crook of his neck.

"I had so much more to say about him," she breathes, and he barely hears her. "I just couldn't…I couldn't…"

Jane's arm tightens around her. "He knew," he whispers in her ear. "Lisbon, I guarantee that whatever you wanted to say about him…he knew. I promise you."

She reaches out for him, wrapping both arms around his torso. "Don't let go of me," he feels her murmur.

"Never," he agrees, and grips her tighter.

* * *

After the service, the caravan of cars, all with headlights on, follows the hearse from the church to the cemetery. Lisbon stays by Jane's side the entire time, brushing her shoulder against his or leaning into him slightly. It occurs to him that she _needs_ the contact, needs something to tether her to reality, and he offers her his arm as they walk across the grounds under darkening skies. She threads her arm around his elbow, and he brings his other hand over to cover hers as they approach the lot where the casket will be placed in the ground.

Jane listens as the priest speaks at the graveside, but he only hears noise rather than actual words. He knows this is one moment he won't want to revisit in his memory palace later, and he doesn't try to focus on the priest. Instead, he grips Lisbon's hand tighter and leans his head against hers.

The sky opens up, and a light drizzle begins to fall.

* * *

Jane retreats slightly after the coffin is lowered into the ground, allowing Lisbon to gather with her brothers and niece to greet family and friends who have come to pay respects to Stan. He'd met Jimmy, Tommy, and Tommy's daughter Annie earlier that week and immediately liked them. Annie is already wrapping Jane around her finger, and he is not-so-secretly over the moon about it, wondering if Lisbon had been anything like her when she was young.

Now, Jane stands underneath a maple tree, sheltered from the mist, and watches Lisbon shake hand after hand.

He is astounded by her composure, recognizing the neutral mask she wears while conducting interviews. Though clearly torn apart inside, on the exterior Lisbon appears just as calm as always.

Eventually, the guests leave one by one, and Lisbon and her brothers are left speaking with an elderly couple. After five minutes, Jane watches as Tommy, the taller of her two brothers, excuses himself and heads toward the maple tree.

"My sister's shared a lot of stories about you," Tommy says when he is near. His eyes narrow at Jane, more curious than accusatory.

Jane doesn't know what to say to this.

Tommy continues, his voice low. "You saved her life a couple times."

Jane nods once. "Yeah, well, she saves mine about every other week, so that's not saying much."

"It is to me," Tommy argues.

Jane really looks at the man for the first time, taking in his dark hair and eyes, his strong build. The resemblance to his sister is uncanny. Jane thinks he would have recognized this immediately even if they'd met randomly at some other place, some other time, without proper introductions.

"Look, this may not be any of my business," Tommy says, "but are you two...involved?" He hesitates before saying the last word, as though he'd been thinking of saying something else but changed his mind at the last second.

Jane cannot help the microexpression of surprise which flashes across his face, though he thinks that Tommy doesn't notice.

"No," he says curtly.

"I'm sorry," says Tommy in a pacifying tone. "I just...I saw the way she's been looking at you today. I can't remember Teresa ever looking at _anyone_ like that. She never really was the kind for relationships," he explains. "I was just...I was just thinking it would be nice for her to have something to be happy about."

Jane ponders this. "It's...complicated," he admits. "I know that sounds cliché, but it's true."

"No need for justifications, man," Tommy says, his voice becoming warmer. "Teresa's never been straightforward with anything in her life." He looks over his shoulder to see that his sister, brother, and daughter are headed over to the maple tree, and he takes a step toward Jane. "She's worth it, though," he says under his breath. "I promise you."

Jane doesn't hesitate. "I know," he says.

Annie immediately moves to stand beside her father, and Jane moves instinctively toward Lisbon. "Ready to go?" Lisbon asks, sounding exhausted.

Jane nods, gesturing for her to lead the way. She does, and his hand comes up to rest on her lower back as they make their way out of the cemetery.

* * *

They return to their hotel room, chilled from the rain that has finally materialized from the mist. As soon as the door behind them is closed, Lisbon reaches for Jane, shivering slightly, and he wraps his arms around her, rubbing up and down her back to generate some friction. Her breath is warm against his neck.

There is nothing to say.

He rests his lips against her temple, squeezing his eyes shut tightly in an attempt to get his emotions under control. Eventually, he loses track of how long they stand like that—wrapped around each other in their darkened hotel room like lovers.

"I'm ready to go home," Lisbon says, and he can feel her lips move against his skin. "There's nothing left for me in Chicago. Mom and Dad are gone—and now Stan." She takes a deep breath. "God, I used to love this city. Now all the memories I have of it are of death."

She looks up at him with wide eyes, eyes that lost their innocence far too long ago. He realizes that her eyes are also devoid of their usual fire, their usual spark—and this terrifies him. He wishes he knew how to draw her back to him before she draws herself away irrevocably.

Lisbon's brow furrows as she looks at him, and their breaths mix together between their bodies.

Her hand moves from his lower back to his chest, and he cannot think.

They move at the same time—coming together nearly in sync, her lips harsh and insistent on his. He has to stifle a groan, and his hands move of their own accord to divest her of her blazer. Her shirt follows soon after, and she is all glorious, pale, porcelain skin.

He cannot stop.

He becomes aware that his jacket, vest, and shirt have fallen to the ground to land on top of her clothes, and he pulls her closer to feel her bare skin on his. She is no longer shivering—rather, her skin is scorching, caustic, burning him wherever he touches. She slides her tongue against his, moaning softly.

God, she is so beautiful.

His hands slip lower to lift her up, and she wraps her legs around his hips. She breathes heavily as he leans her against the wall, his torso flush against hers. He moves to kiss her neck, and her eyes roll back. He groans at the sight.

He pulls back to really look at her, smiling, but his breath catches.

The fire has returned to her eyes.

Then his world crashes.

"No," he murmurs. "No. _Not like this_."

"What?" asks Lisbon, confused, and her legs tighten around him as she tenses.

"We can't do this," Jane croaks out, setting her back down on the floor. He immediately misses every point of contact between their bodies. "Not here, not now. Just a few days ago, you told me you needed time to figure things out." He's very aware that his breath is uneven and loud, a sharp contrast to the quiet of the room. He feels his heart break as he says, "Neither of us is ready for this."

She looks at him, stunned, and he hurries to explain.

"You have to know how much I want this, Lisbon—how much I want you," he says. "But if we do this tonight, you'll be upset in the morning. You'll be upset that you didn't take the time to wait and figure out exactly what you wanted. And I couldn't stand it if you looked at me with regret in your eyes. I just couldn't. Please, Lisbon. I don't want our first time to be because we are grieving and need an escape. I want our first time to be...so much more than that."

Her eyes well up and spill over, and he is not sure if she's crying because of his words or his rejection.

So he leans in to kiss her again, this time chaste and sweet and slow. When he pulls away, she whispers sadly, "If you're planning on waiting for me to pull myself together, you may be waiting a very long time."

He grabs her hand and brings her fingers to his lips.

"I'd wait for you forever, Lisbon," he says.

A minute passes, each of them lost in the other. Jane finally breaks the silence.

"Lisbon, I—"

He can tell she knows what he is thinking. She interrupts him.

"Me, too."

He holds her as their heart rates begin to slow.


	14. Chapter 14

**AN: Thanks for the amazing response to last chapter! Your reviews and feedback mean more to me than I can say. I hope you enjoy this chapter as well.**

* * *

He drops her off at her apartment after they land in Sacramento. She doesn't invite him inside, and he doesn't ask. Instead, she watches him pull away from the curb in his death-trap of a car, then she turns to open the door.

Lisbon knows he meant what he said last night about giving her time to figure things out. And she is grateful for this time—she finds her ability to think clearly is inversely proportional to the amount of distance between their two bodies. And after spending a week in close proximity to Jane—at times in _very_ close proximity to Jane—she needs to clear her mind.

She swings the door shut behind her and locks it absentmindedly, dropping her bags on the floor. She debates heading to the kitchen to rifle through her drawers for a takeout menu but instead moves to the living room, giving into the temptation of crashing on her couch for a few minutes.

But she finds she is unable to do so because someone is already sitting on it.

Lisbon freezes with one foot into the living room.

"Erica," she says, her jaw tight. Her eyes flash down to the gun being trained on her before looking back up into Erica's dark eyes. "I should have expected a visit from you."

"It's good to see you, Teresa. How is your arm healing up?"

Her tone is light, conversational—as though she and Lisbon are out for coffee. It seems bizarre paired with the current situation.

Lisbon shrugs. "The doctor says all the extra stress in my life isn't doing the healing process any favors."

Erica smooths out a nonexistent wrinkle from her skintight mauve dress. "You should take better care of yourself. Your health is the most important thing."

Lisbon restrains herself from rolling her eyes. _As if all this stress I'm experiencing isn't in some way related to you_ , she thinks.

"What do you want, Erica?" she asks instead. She begins to calculate, wondering if she can retreat a step or two to retrieve the gun hidden in the entry hall.

Erica stands up, her weapon still trained on Lisbon. It is clear from her expression that she knows exactly what Lisbon is thinking.

She tosses something at Lisbon, who realizes that Erica had been holding a pair of handcuffs throughout their exchange. "Put them on," says Erica, nodding at her. "Cuff yourself to the banister on the stairs," she adds.

Lisbon moves across the room slowly, taking steady steps as she walks to the stairs. Erica pivots, her gun following Lisbon's movements.

"Why the handcuffs?" asks Lisbon as she threads them around the banister and locks them around her wrists. She leans back against the wall of the stairwell. "You know Jane will find me here in a couple of hours and get me out of them."

Erica lowers the gun when the telltale sound of the cuffs locking echoes throughout the room.

"Oh, I have no doubt," she says, smiling. "In fact, I'll call him myself as I leave so that you're not uncomfortable for long."

Lisbon reads between the lines. "So what you're saying is that the only reason you wanted to use the cuffs is because you knew it would annoy me."

Erica smirks at her, and Lisbon fumes. "We both know 'annoyed' doesn't properly convey your sentiments toward me at the moment. What you're feeling right now is a deep hatred—a loathing, if you will—because you are not in control of the current situation."

Lisbon doesn't reply to this. Erica only smiles wider.

"To answer your earlier question," says Erica, setting the gun down on the couch and walking over to Lisbon. "I am here to give you some advice."

Lisbon raises an eyebrow. "Thanks, but no thanks. I'm not about to take advice from a wanted felon."

Erica moves closer so that she is standing merely inches from Lisbon. "You'll want to hear this, believe me," she says.

Lisbon wants to move forward, to invade Erica's personal space, to attempt to make her uncomfortable, but the handcuffs prevent her from moving. Instead, she glares at Erica with narrowed eyes as the taller woman studies her, clearly weighing her words.

"Patrick has obviously told you about his feelings for you," Erica says finally. "Despite everything else that's going on in your life, I sense you're feeling…satisfied."

"I don't see how Jane's feelings are any of your business."

Erica ignores this. "I _also_ sense that you haven't given Patrick a definitive answer regarding your feelings for _him_ ," she says. "I'm here to advise you to tell him that you cannot be in a relationship with him."

"Are you threatening me?" asks Lisbon, feeling her earlier anger at the situation give way to fury.

"God, no," says Erica, and she gives a short, musical laugh. "I've merely used my instincts as a professional matchmaker to analyze your potential relationship, and I must warn you that every possible outcome of it is failure."

"You can't possibly know that."

"I can," argues Erica. "You see, a relationship between you and Patrick will not work because you want to be together for all the wrong reasons. You are attracted to his danger, his unpredictability, his transgressions."

Lisbon is stunned by the ring of truth to these words, and she cannot help but listen intently as Erica continues.

"He is, in fact, in love with you," says Erica. "However, he only feels this way because you remind him of his wife."

These words have the effect of knocking the wind out of Lisbon as though they were a physical rather than metaphorical blow. While she struggles to remember how to breathe, Erica keeps talking.

"Teresa, you have a fiery personality, an adventurous side, and you're the only person alive on this planet who can call Patrick on his bullshit and actually have him listen to you. Additionally, you share a physical resemblance to Angela Jane, who was also about five foot four in addition to being a brunette." She pauses, gesturing with her hands. "Shall I go on?"

"No," says Lisbon right away. "No, you've made your point."

Erica moves toward her, laying a hand on her shoulder. "I'm very sorry," she says. "But I truly believe this potential relationship would be extremely unhealthy for you. And that's not even mentioning all the other hesitations you no doubt already have about Patrick's reliability."

Lisbon cannot stop the thoughts which flood over her.

Jane's secrets.

His inability to put down roots.

His tendency to place higher priority on getting his revenge than the team's safety.

His lies.

His never-ending, unforgiveable, _goddamn_ lies.

Erica's fingers squeeze Lisbon's shoulder. "As a matchmaker, it pains me to see a relationship is doomed before it even begins. But believe me, you will be better off from learning this sooner rather than later. I know you see the logic behind my words."

For some reason, this sentence is the last degree of heat need to send water into a boil, and Lisbon's pent-up anger spills over.

She tugs at the handcuffs, feeling them bite into her sweaty skin. "Logic? _How dare you speak to me about logic_ ," she hisses. "This mess you're involved in—how the hell are you rationalizing your way through it? How can you justify working with Red John? With helping him get away with murder? I mean, I know you killed your husband. But Red John wants to kill innocent women whose only crime is looking like me. How can you live with yourself for helping him do that?"

"Red John has his faults," says Erica. "But then again, so does Patrick, and yet you overlook his."

Lisbon feels the muscles in her arms begin to strain because of her awkward positioning.

"You're saying you ignore the fact that Red John is a cold-blooded murderer because you're in love with him."

"Patrick has killed before, and yet you love him."

"Jane killed Hardy to save my life. That's completely different."

"Perhaps," admits Erica. "But years of matchmaking have told me that love is never logical or rational. It just is."

They stare at each other for a few seconds, and Lisbon wishes she were half a foot taller so that she could look directly into Erica's eyes. "Take your own damn advice," Lisbon says finally, her voice low.

Erica visibly recoils. Lisbon wonders vaguely how the woman could possibly reconcile such double standards, but Erica has already composed herself.

"Warning you about Patrick was not my only motive for seeing you," says Erica, dropping her hand from Lisbon's shoulder. "Red John is impressed that you noticed the missing photo album, and he wanted to give you a message as a reward."

Lisbon takes a deep breath through her nose, wondering how the hell Red John could know that she discovered the scrapbook had been taken. She narrows her eyes.

"Red John kept an eye on Patrick for quite some time after the death of his family. When he heard that Patrick was recovering—that he'd soon be released from the psych ward—Red John knew that Patrick would come crawling back to law enforcement, looking for new leads, hoping to finally take him down."

Lisbon freezes, trying to sort through these words.

"And Red John wanted to give him a fair chance—in fact, Red John was hopeful for a serious challenge. So he decided to let Patrick to tag along with the CBI. But Red John knew—as do you and I—that he couldn't entrust Patrick to just anyone. That's why, when he learned that Patrick was due to be released from the hospital, he gave the case to you." The corners of Erica's mouth twitch upward. "As I told you before, Patrick has a soft spot for fiery brunettes, and Red John knew you'd remind Patrick of his wife. Red John knew you'd be able to control him because of that."

Erica's smile grows wider. "His plan worked remarkably well—you and Patrick have turned out to be two of his best employees. Moreover, the plan worked so well that Patrick fell in love with you. Red John was thrilled to discover this lovely, unexpected side benefit."

"Get the hell out of my house."

Lisbon knows she's visibly shaking, but she cannot control herself any longer.

Erica grins, snatching Lisbon's cell phone from her back pocket and moving away.

Lisbon glares at her, watching as Erica hits the first number on the phone's speed dial and places the phone to her ear. "I changed my mind," Lisbon says. "Go _to_ hell."

Lisbon listens as Jane picks up on the first ring.

"Yes, hello, Patrick," says Erica smoothly. "I'm just calling to let you know that your Teresa is in a bit of a predicament at her apartment right now. Backup is not needed. She just needs _you_."

She hangs up and drops the phone on the couch, grabbing her gun instead.

"As always, Teresa," she says, "this was a pleasure. I'm sure we will be in contact again very soon."

"You better hope not," hisses Lisbon, but the threat is belied by the sound of the handcuffs sliding against the banister as she struggles.

Erica walks gracefully away, slamming the door behind her in her wake.

* * *

Jane doesn't breathe for seventeen minutes and fifty-one seconds.

This is how long it takes him to race to Lisbon's apartment, throw open the unlocked door, and catch a glimpse of Lisbon in her living room.

"I'm fine," she assures him hurriedly as he moves toward her, his head spinning. "Just get me out of these."

He looks around the room for something to use as a lock pick and immediately finds a stray bobby pin on the ground. The cuffs are off in a matter of seconds, and he can't stop himself from reaching for her.

But she maneuvers around him, moving out of his reach, and he tries to push down the hurt this elicits.

"What the hell happened?" he asks as she moves away from him, across the room.

Her words come out slightly hoarse. "I should have cleared the apartment before letting my guard down."

Jane follows Lisbon into the kitchen, taking care not to move too close. He should have expected that she would be slightly skittish after being handcuffed in her own apartment.

"Erica was here," Lisbon elaborates. "Sitting on my couch, pointing a gun at me as I walked in."

Jane swears loudly. For several minutes, the only words he can think of are four letters long and obscene.

"What did she want?" he asks finally, when he can trust himself to form sentences.

Lisbon hesitates, refusing to look at him. She leans against the counter, putting her weight forward on her hands.

"She told me that Red John assigned me to his case all those years ago," she whispers.

Jane immediately knows there must be more to the story, but he doesn't push, knowing she will tell him when she can.

"She essentially said Red John has been our boss from the very beginning—he must have been involved in the CBI before I was ever hired." She finally looks up to meet Jane's eyes. "Jane, what are we going to do?"

He immediately reads the existential crisis in her expression.

She became a cop to try to eliminate some of the evil in the world. How is she supposed to react when she finds out that the evil she's been fighting signs her paycheck?

His fingers automatically reach out to touch her, but he forces them back down to his side.

"This doesn't change much," Jane admits. "We already suspected Red John had connections within the CBI. All Erica did was confirm it." He takes a step forward, relieved when Lisbon doesn't move away. "Red John may not even be officially a part of the CBI. He may just have connections with someone who is."

"But what if he's more than involved?" Lisbon asks. "What if it's more than mere connections? Could he be one of the powers that be? Jane, do you know what this could mean?"

Jane watches her body tense, as though she's trying to stop herself from trembling. "Hey, Lisbon, it's alright," he says. "It's fine. I swear, it's all fine. Just listen to me."

"Jane, what if we're working _for_ _him_? What if he's been ordering us around from the very beginning?"

He watches her hands clench on the counter.

"What if all the good we'd thought we were doing—what if it wasn't good after all?"

"Lisbon, stop," says Jane sharply. "You're a fantastic cop. You've helped put murderers away. Lots of them, I might add. You are a fearless leader, and your team has done more good for this city than any other unit has. Whether or not Red John has been involved in the CBI doesn't change any of that."

Lisbon's voice is rough. "If he's a part of the CBI, then I don't think I can be anymore."

Jane sighs. "We might not have a choice, Lisbon. We may ultimately need someone inside the CBI to help take him down."

It takes her a while to respond. "I know," she says quietly. "But it makes me feel physically sick to think that he may be giving our team orders from higher up."

He doesn't know what to say to this, so they stand in silence, the florescent light from her kitchen washing out their skin.

A few minutes later, Lisbon sighs.

"It's late," she says. "And we both need to be at work early tomorrow."

It's clearly a dismissal, and Jane nods, heading to her door. She opens it for him, and he turns around, knowing that everything about this night has gone horribly wrong but also that he has no idea what exactly _is_ wrong.

"Lisbon, I—" he says, but she cuts him off.

"Me neither," she says, shutting the door.

He remains on her doorstep for five minutes, shell-shocked, before he finally returns to his car.


	15. Chapter 15

**AN: Thanks again for your comments on the last chapter. This should be my last time updating while abroad, so hopefully I'll be able to post chapters a little more frequently from now on. That's my goal, at least. Anyway, onto the chapter!**

* * *

Jane lifts the kettle to pour the steaming water into his teacup. He moves too quickly, and the boiling water splashes over the edge of the teacup and onto his fingers. He hisses, dropping the kettle in the sink with a loud _thunk_ , and he shakes his hand vigorously in an attempt to get rid of the burning sensation that's seeping into his skin.

" _Shit_ ," he says under his breath just as Grace appears at the entrance to the breakroom. She sends him a worried look, understanding right away what has happened.

Without a word, Grace moves to the freezer, grabbing a tray of ice cubes. She shuts the freezer door with one hand, and she's already reaching for the cupboard with her other, searching for a plastic bag. When she finds one, she dumps the ice inside and zips it up, grabbing a towel on the sink to wrap around the plastic. She reaches for Jane's hand and places the ice on it gingerly.

Jane winces. "Thank you," he says.

Grace looks up at him with tired eyes, and Jane suddenly realizes how late it is. Night had fallen over an hour ago, and he looks over her shoulder to see that the bullpen is now empty.

"Did the others go home?" he asks absently.

"A while ago," Grace says, mimicking his low tone.

"Why are you still here?"

"It's my night to look after you," she says simply.

Jane gives her a sharp look. "What do you mean?"

Grace sighs, and Jane is suddenly aware that she is still holding the ice to his burned fingers. "It's been a rough week for you," she says. "Cho and Wayne and I…we wanted to make sure you were okay."

Jane closes his eyes. It has, indeed, been a rough week. He hasn't spoken to Lisbon for eight days—since she shut the door in his face after he'd found her handcuffed in her apartment. He'd tried calling several times, but she never answered. He'd had to hear from Cho that she'd reported the incident with Erica to the CBI.

He opens his eyes in time to see Grace swallow. She hesitates before deciding to speak anyway. "You were right about the letter we found at Stan Lisbon's house," she says. "Well, you were half-right. There weren't any fingerprints. But, uh…one of the techs examined the letter under UV light, and he found the outline of a pair of lips. Like someone was wearing clear chapstick or something."

Jane's eyes widen. "You got DNA," he whispers.

She nods. "I had the results rushed by calling in a favor."

"It's Erica's DNA, isn't it?"

She winces. "Yeah, it is."

Jane sighs. "We already knew she was involved, so this doesn't tell us anything new."

"So why leave it for us to find?"

"Because he can," Jane says weakly.

Grace finally pulls her hand away from his, and Jane attempts to refocus. "I'm sorry I've been a mess this week," he says.

He _has_ been a mess this week, and they both know it. Though he's been attempting to look into Erica's client list to follow up on the information she let slip before she drugged him, the man he met at the mall has not been among the clients he's researched. It's a long process, however. Erica had many clients, not all of them easy to track down.

Grace shakes her head. "It's not like we've had many leads to follow. We've hit dead ends with the three female victims as well as with Lisbon's brother."

"But you have other open cases I could work harder to solve. I'm sorry. I'll do better tomorrow."

She gives him a halfhearted smile. "You know we'd do anything for you, Jane," she says. Then she hesitates again. She opens her mouth, obviously wanting to ask him about Lisbon. He clearly hasn't done a good enough job of hiding his personal life from the team.

He cuts her off before she can get the words out.

" _I don't know_ ," he says helplessly. "I don't know how she's doing because she kicked me out the other night and hasn't answered my calls in over a week. Grace, I have no idea how to fix this, especially considering I have no idea _what the hell_ is wrong."

This isn't completely true, of course. Just over two weeks ago, he'd told Lisbon he was in love with her. And then a few days later, they'd almost had sex. Jane is fairly certain that these two things have terrified Lisbon and that this is, at least in part, the reason behind her distance.

However, Jane also realizes that Lisbon hadn't seemed so distant the moment he'd dropped her off from the airport when they'd returned from Chicago. If she'd needed time and space to process these developments, why had she only begun to push him away after Erica had shown up in her apartment with a gun?

And suddenly, everything falls into place.

Jane tosses the now slightly-melted ice pack into the sink. "I need to go," he says.

"Where?" asks Grace, looking slightly alarmed.

"Lisbon's," he says, already hallway out of the breakroom.

* * *

Lisbon opens the door exactly eight seconds after he knocks.

"What did Erica say to you?" asks Jane urgently, taking in Lisbon's furrowed brow and piercing stare.

"What?" asks Lisbon, stepping aside to let him pass through.

He does so, and she shuts the door behind them.

He continues walking into the living room. She follows.

"What did she say to you? I mean, apart from what you've already told me?" He whirls around to face her, trying not to get lost in the way her jade eyes flame.

Lisbon crosses her arms across her chest, staring at him determinedly. He watches her calculate, weighing her options.

"Lisbon, please," Jane says. "Tell me what I did so I can fix it."

"That's just it, Jane," she says, her voice monotone. "There's no fixing this."

"What do you mean?"

The silence stretches between them before she snaps it. "Why do you love me?" she asks suddenly.

Jane is thrown by the sudden change in topic. He answers without needing to think.

"So many reasons," he says, taking a step toward her. "Your ferocity, the way you care for your team…the way you care for me. And you're the only person who has the courage to tell me when I'm being a bastard."

He knows immediately from her expression that this is exactly the wrong thing to have said, though he cannot for the life of him understand _why._

Jane moves toward her again. "Teresa, what is it?"

Lisbon closes her eyes as his hands come to rest on her upper arms.

Ten seconds later, she looks up at him. "You don't love me," she says.

Jane blinks at her, stunned. "Of course I do," he says. "I haven't been so sure of anything in years. In a decade, in fact."

Lisbon shrugs helplessly. "Maybe," she admits. "But even if what you feel for me is love, the only reason you feel it is because I remind you of your wife. You're not in love with me—you're in love with the qualities I share with Angela."

Jane immediately drops his hands from her arms.

Oh.

He takes a deep breath, swearing internally. Of course Lisbon had reacted when he'd rattled off the list of reasons why he loved her.

She had easily seen those qualities in Angela, too.

There's a strength in her eyes that he hasn't seen in weeks when she looks at him again, and he knows she's steeling herself to do something difficult.

He braces himself.

"I can't say yes, Jane," she whispers to him. "I can't be sure you're in love with me. Hell, I can't even be sure you're going to stick around. I wish I could be, but I… _I can't_."

Jane feels like his heart has been ripped out all over again. It's nearly as painful as opening that dark door at the end of the hallway a decade ago.

"No, Lisbon, please—listen to me. Erica said those things because she wanted them to have this effect. She wanted to put doubt in your mind!"

Lisbon's eyes flash at him. "Jane, you've done that well enough yourself without Erica's help. Just because she said the words doesn't make them untrue."

He gapes at her, wishing he could rewind everything about these past few days, praying that he could return to that hotel room with Lisbon where things made a hell of lot more sense.

"Lisbon…"

She doesn't respond.

"I do love you," he says, his voice raspy. "I love you more than I ever thought it was possible to love someone. And I'll _always_ love you."

She doesn't answer for a few seconds.

Then, finally, she says, "I wish I could believe you."

He looks down at the ground. "This is your final decision?" he asks.

"Yes," she whispers. "Please don't try to change my mind."

He nods. He loves her too much to try to do that.

And because he loves her, he slips past her without another word to the door, pulling it shut after he leaves.

His chest physically aches when he hears her slide the deadbolt into place behind him.


	16. Chapter 16

**AN: Alrighty everyone - last chapter should be about rock bottom as far as angst (at least in my opinion; some of you may disagree). At any rate, brighter days and fluff are on the horizon. Hope you enjoy this chapter, and thanks for your continued feedback.**

* * *

She sends him a text the next morning that only slightly lessens the sting of her words the night before.

 _I don't want you out of my life. I just need some time. And space._

Jane sighs, flipping the phone shut and sinking onto his couch. The leather creaks slightly beneath him. He closes his eyes.

Lisbon's rejection had clearly shocked them both, him probably more so than her. If he's being honest with himself, he has to admit that it never actually occurred to him that Lisbon would turn him down once he'd finally confessed his feelings for her.

He rubs a hand over his face. Sure, he recognizes that he's not exactly ideal boyfriend material, but Lisbon is as close to a saint as is possible for a human being. He'd expected her virtue, her forgiveness would somehow allow her to overlook his flaws.

He can't remember a time when he'd been more wrong.

Though, of course, he'd at least been right when he'd predicted that his feelings for her would only cause her heartache.

 _Anyone who gets close to me—bad things happen to them._

The worst part of this mess, he thinks, is that Erica actually has a valid point. He knows he loves Lisbon, but he's beginning to doubt the motivation behind his feelings. Is he only attracted to her because she reminds him of Angela? The two women certainly share many admirable characteristics, he concedes eventually.

In other words, it is entirely possible that his mind has decided that Lisbon is the most suitable candidate for a replacement for Angela.

He wants nothing more than to defend himself to Lisbon, to prove that he really does love her _—_ that he has fallen in love with her and not some phantom version of Angela _—_ but this is exceedingly difficult when he cannot even convince himself that this is true.

The thought makes him feel sick.

The elevator doors ding to announce the arrival of Grace, and one look is all she needs to understand that his attempts to mend things with Lisbon went south last night. As she reaches her desk, she steps toward the couch, looking distraught. "Jane—" she begins.

But she's interrupted by Cho, who walks into the bullpen at that moment with a young woman by his side. "Where's Rigsby?" he asks sharply.

"Here," says Rigsby, stepping out of the breakroom with a doughnut in hand. He swallows a large bite. "What's up, Boss?" he asks.

Jane cringes internally. He's still not used to the team referring to anyone but Lisbon as "Boss."

Cho leads the young woman over to the couch, and Jane stands up to shake her hand. "The new recruit, I presume," he says, taking in her appearance.

She's a couple inches taller than Lisbon, but the physical similarities between the two are striking. Piercing, intense green eyes and a slight brush of freckles across her face are the most obvious similarities, but the young woman also has the exact same haircut that Lisbon wore when Jane first met her.

Red John has long since thrown subtlety out the window, Jane thinks.

He looks over at Grace, whose eyebrows are raised. Rigsby's mouth is hanging open slightly as he processes the similarities between this new woman and Lisbon, but Cho is as expressionless as always, ever the professional.

"The powers that be finally assigned us our new team member," says Cho. "Everyone, meet Olivia Barnett. Barnett, meet…everyone."

Grace steps in as Barnett looks around, clearly wondering if she should ask for names. "I'm Grace Van Pelt," she says. "This is Wayne Rigsby, and this is Patrick Jane. Welcome to the unit."

"It's good to be here," says Barnett. Her voice is lower than Jane expected, but not unpleasantly so. He suspects she's twenty-seven or twenty-eight years old, and his stomach twists at the realization that Red John is manipulating someone so young. It's too early to tell definitively whether or not Barnett is knowledgeable of this manipulation, but Jane would hazard a guess that she is not.

That's a relief, at least. Ever since the day Lisbon had been demoted—ever since she'd told him that the team would be getting a rookie to fill out the unit—Jane had been worried that she would be replaced with a Red John associate.

However, Jane's relief at Barnett's apparent lack of connections to Red John is belied by the fact that Red John clearly had an opportunity to infiltrate the team but chose not to do so. Jane bites down on the inside of his cheek, remembering what Lisbon had told him last week about Red John's likely influence in the CBI from the very beginning.

Is this influence so extensive that he would deem unnecessary a clear opportunity to spy on Jane?

It appears so.

Rigsby inhales the last bite of his doughnut and reaches for a file on his desk. "I got here a little early this morning to run through what we know about the latest Red John cases," he says, opening the file and passing it to Cho. Rigsby points to a sentence. "We originally couldn't find any connection between the victim found in the movie theater, Deborah Cole, and the other two victims. I combed through Cole's file and found that she attended Sac State as an undergrad."

Cho's eyes narrow as he scans the victim's file. "How did we miss that?" The frustration is evident in his voice.

"She wasn't awarded her degree from that institution," Rigsby says. "She took classes there her first semester freshman year and then transferred to a school with a more specific fine arts degree. I had to do some digging to find her transcript, but it clearly lists that she took four classes at Sac State several years ago."

Jane looks over at Rigsby. "Was one of them in the psychology department?"

"Two of them were," Rigsby confirms.

Jane nods. "So we have three Red John victims with connections to Sac State. One psychology minor, one janitor who worked in the building where the department is located, and one former psychology student."

"Check it out," says Cho sharply to Rigsby, snapping the file shut and handing it back to him. "Talk with her professors, and see if you can find any students she shared classes with. Take Jane and Barnett, and brief Barnett on the three cases on the way."

"Yes, Boss," Rigsby says.

Before they move out, Jane responds to Lisbon's text.

 _I understand._

* * *

Jane gives Lisbon a week before he attempts to contact her again.

 _I just need time. And space._

Surely a week was plenty of both?

To his immense relief, she picks up the phone when he calls. "Hi, Jane," she says, and he drinks up the strength in her tone like he's dying of thirst.

"Can I stop by to fill you in on some things?" Leads have been slow to come by, as per usual with Red John cases, but he feels he has to keep her informed nonetheless.

"See you soon," she says, and hangs up.

* * *

It's dark when he arrives, and he stands outside her door after knocking, tapping his fingers together impatiently, as shadows take form around him.

And suddenly she's there, right in front of him, and he is immediately left breathless upon seeing her. Her effect on him is no less powerful than it had been in the hospital after she'd been shot, when he'd first realized he was in love with her.

He feels like he's had one too many glasses of champagne.

Strange, he thinks. He'd almost expected his feelings to go away, or at the very least certainly lessen, upon discovering that she didn't want to be with him. He guesses there'd really been no chance of that happening.

Jane doesn't stay long _—_ in fact, he doesn't even invite himself into the living room of her home. Instead, they stand in her entrance hallway, and he tells her about the latest connection they'd found between Red John's most recent female victims in addition to describing several leads which failed to pan out.

He watches her intently as he speaks, trying to get a read on her. Eventually, he manages it _,_ and he's not surprised at what he finds.

Lisbon has pulled herself together.

Over the past several weeks, Lisbon has been through hell and back many times over. Three people who look like her have been killed merely to taunt her. Her job _—her identity_ _—_ has been taken away from her. She has lost her brother.

Jane adds one other thing to the list of struggles Lisbon has endured: he has broken her heart.

And, yet, here she is, standing in front of him with a calmness that is enviable. Though she has a lot to work through, she is coping.

Jane has never been so proud to call her his friend.

Just as he's leaving a few minutes later, Lisbon shows the first, small signs of emotion. He's reaching out for the door when he feels her hand on his back.

"It killed me to hurt you," Lisbon whispers. "You know that, right?"

And suddenly, an immense clarity floods through Jane, rushing through his veins, making his path clear.

All of these struggles that Lisbon has gone through these past few weeks have been because he fell in love with her. Both Erica Flynn and Red John have made it abundantly clear that Lisbon will continue to pay the price for his feelings for her in the future.

What will the next blow be? Will it be one or both of her remaining brothers? Her niece? How many more obstacles will Lisbon be able to face before she can no longer cope so admirably?

Jane realizes that it's also killing him to see her hurt. He's not sure he will be able to stand much more of this.

For the first time in weeks, Jane thinks of the piece of paper that Erica slipped into his suit jacket pocket before she drugged him.

She'd told him that Red John had offered his friendship. If Jane takes it, Red John will no longer target Lisbon.

There is no decision to make.

Jane glances over his shoulder, not really looking at Lisbon but acknowledging that he's heard her. He nods stiffly, then he slips out the door.

* * *

He sits on the end of his bed in the motel room with his phone in one hand and the slip of paper in the other.

With shaking hands, he examines the back of the paper, where Red John's mark has been drawn in what looks like blood. He's not sure to whom the blood belongs, and he doesn't want to know.

He flips the paper over. It is blank save for a telephone number. Most likely a burner phone, he thinks vaguely.

Jane dials the number, and Erica picks up on the second ring.

"Patrick," she says a little breathlessly. "I'm glad you reached out to me. What can I do for you?"

Jane takes a few seconds to search for words, and even after he's found them, it takes a great amount of effort to get them out.

"Tell Red John," he says finally, "that I accept."


	17. Chapter 17

**AN: Alrighty, let's see how many of you hate me for this. Happy reading!**

* * *

In less than an hour, there's a knock at Jane's hotel room door.

Knowing full well who is there, Jane stands up from his place on the end of the bed, where he'd been sitting since he dialed Erica's number.

As he reaches out to grab the handle of the door, he wonders if Lisbon will ever be able to forgive him for this. Then he shakes himself. If there is ever anything he can be sure of, it's Lisbon's ability to forgive him for his transgressions.

Regardless, it's not as though he has a choice. He cannot bear to see Lisbon targeted any longer.

He opens the door, and the warm summer night envelops him before a large body steps into the light from the shadows.

Jane doesn't recognize the individual, but the gun he holds leaves no question as to his employer. His dark eyes take in Jane as he trains the firearm on Jane's chest, and Jane raises his hands.

"There's really no need for the gun," Jane says, feeling slightly jittery, and he makes an effort to ensure his hands don't shake. "I plan to fully cooperate."

"Red John knows this," says the man in a deep voice. He's as tall as Rigsby but shares none of the CBI agent's boyish charm. Rather, he is gruff, rough, and he looks like he could break all of Jane's bones with one hand. "The gun is for your benefit."

Ah, thinks Jane. That certainly explains it.

He will undoubtedly be missing for a while before he is thrown back by Red John, and Lisbon will, of course, notice his absence and begin searching for him. If she discovers that he left, that he abandoned her of his own free will, she will be far less likely to let him back into her life than if the evidence indicates that he has been forcibly kidnapped.

He suspects that security camera footage of his apparent abduction will make it into Lisbon's hands tomorrow.

"In that case," says Jane, "I'll make sure to thank Red John for his kindness."

"He expects that you will do so."

Jane is not sure how to respond to this, so he ignores the comment. "So, how do we do this?" he asks instead.

"You come with me," says the man.

"That's it?" Jane tries to hide his surprise. "You're not under orders to drug me or something so that I don't find out the location of wherever we're headed?"

The man gives him an eerie grin. "Red John said you'd ask that. He also said you'd be clever enough to figure out that giving away any information would immediately make your truce with him null and void."

Meaning that if Jane snitches, Lisbon is dead.

Jane nods. "I understand."

"Then let's go."

* * *

It's nearly midnight when they arrive in San Francisco, but the city is just coming alive, with neon lights that remind Jane of New Year's fireworks. However, they exit the interstate well before entering the heart of the city, heading down a twisting back road that takes them up steep hills overlooking the seaside.

They drive for another ten minutes before turning into a gated driveway. The gate swings inward for them automatically, and as they approach the house, Jane is reminded of his home in Malibu. Though the home in front of him is at least twice the size, it is similar in style: its walls are overwhelmingly made of windows that sparkle like lanterns from the lights inside, and in general the angles and siding are very modern in feel. He catches a glimpse of an enormous patio with a pool off to the side of the house, strings of lights hung over the water, and he is momentarily disgusted that he finds the property so beautiful.

The car comes to a stop, and Jane and his escort both step out. Jane takes in two other cars in the driveway, both the same high end make and model as the one in which he was transported. They walk up the walkway through the dark, and the man opens the ornate front door and gestures Jane inside.

He is overwhelmed by glistening white—the banistered stairs, the tiles on the floor, the gleaming walls. He looks up to find a shimmering chandelier, but then his attention is drawn to the top of the stairs when his name is called.

"Patrick."

Erica Flynn descends the staircase, wearing a champagne-colored silk robe and looking like a scene out of a movie. She steps in front of him, and he suspects that she deliberately only tied her robe loosely.

"It's good to see you again," she continues.

Jane doesn't respond.

She gives him a half-pout. "I understand your reluctance, but you'll soon see that this arrangement truly is in everyone's best interests. Your Teresa will be safe, and you will have gained a valuable ally."

Jane's insides twist. He feels bile rise in his throat and wonders if this ordeal will succeed in making him physically ill.

"Where is he?" Jane asks. "I'd like to speak with him."

"In time," says Erica. She reaches out to grab Jane's hand. "Red John is currently away on business, but he will be back the day after tomorrow." She checks her watch. "Or rather, since it's technically morning, he will be back _tomorrow_. I am supposed to get you acquainted with his home and his people in the meantime. They will, after all, essentially become _your_ home and _your_ people very soon."

Jane feels his hand become clammy in hers. "Lisbon will worry," he protests.

"You'll be back to her soon enough, Patrick. And I suspect she will be _extremely_ glad to see you."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Erica shrugs. "She turned you down, but she's already regretting it. Once she realizes you've gone missing, she will realize that she can't live without knowing what it was like to give you and her a chance. Life is short, Patrick. Teresa knows that better than anyone. Your abduction, besides cementing the truce between yourself and Red John, will have the added benefit of bringing you and Teresa together." Erica smirks at him. "I suspect you will be in her bed within days of your return."

"So you don't have a problem with Lisbon and me becoming a couple now that I've agreed to do what Red John wants? All those things you said to Lisbon—they were to get her to refuse me? And in turn make me realize how much I've hurt her?"

"You are the smartest man I've ever met," says Erica, and she begins to pull him up the stairs. "But despite your cleverness, you've never been smart enough to protect that woman without hurting her."

"I won't hurt her this time," Jane says. "I'm through with causing her pain. That's why I'm here."

The words sounds like a lie from the moment they leave his lips, and from the look on Erica's face, she realizes this as well. But her next look toward him is sympathetic, and they climb the stairs together. She leads him down a hall lined with artwork that looks more expensive than Jane's yearly paycheck.

Eventually, she pulls him through a doorway and gestures around. "These will be your quarters. Whenever you have business with Red John to attend to, you will stay here."

He looks around, taking in the off-white four-poster bed with a canopy, the sliding doors to the balcony outside, and the adjoining bathroom, complete with a Jacuzzi-sized bathtub. It's a near-replica of one of the bedrooms of his Malibu home, and he wonders if the resemblance is deliberate.

He's not sure if he would be more or less disturbed if it weren't.

"Breakfast is served at half-past seven," says Erica. "I look forward to catching up with you, Patrick." She leans in to brush a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Jane forces himself to hold still. "Sweet dreams."

As soon as she leaves, he jumps in the shower, hoping to scrub away the feeling of slime that covers his skin.

But he discovers his disgust at himself is more than skin-deep; it has sunk into his bones, and no amount of cleansing can erase it.

* * *

Despite the most comfortable bed he's seen in ages, Jane doesn't sleep.

* * *

The next morning, Jane discovers there are clothes in his size hanging in the closet near his bed. He immediately feels uncomfortable upon putting them on—they are more similar to the designer suits he wore in his days as a fake psychic than to his current wardrobe—but he goes downstairs anyway to play his role, to hold up his end of the deal.

The clothes actually help him with this: though he wants nothing more than to confine himself to his quarters and mope, he knows he must act somewhat confident. He cannot allow Red John to see how much this truce has affected him.

So Jane lets his old psychic mask fall into place.

* * *

Come midmorning, Jane is already tired of making small talk with Erica. They are sitting out on the patio; she reclines in a pool chair wearing what he thinks hardly counts as a swimsuit while he sits on the next chair over. It's a rather cool morning by San Francisco standards, but he is still well aware of the occasional bead of sweat rolling down the curve of his back.

He wonders vaguely if he's lost his touch—clearly his act does not come quite so easily anymore.

Erica changes the subject suddenly.

"I lied to Teresa when I said you only loved her because she reminded you of Angela," she says.

Jane stares blankly ahead, willing himself not to react.

"I know you're doubting yourself right now, doubting the legitimacy of your feelings for Teresa," she continues. "It's what any sane man in your position would do. But you have to stop, and I'll tell you why." She sits up, shifting toward him. "I think you would have fallen in love with Teresa even if you'd met her before you'd met Angela. You have a type, Patrick. You like strong, confident women. That's all the resemblance is. Nothing more."

For some reason, these words come as a relief to Jane. He takes a deep breath. "So it's obvious that I love her? I mean—it's obvious that I love her for _her?_ "

"Blatantly," confirms Erica.

Jane ponders this for a minute, wondering how much he can rely on getting the truth from a murderer. He looks over at her with narrowed eyes, reading her just as he had months ago when she'd first walked into the CBI. He sees none of the same signs of her deception that he had noticed the first time they'd met.

He nods.

"You're the matchmaker," he says finally. "In your honest, professional opinion, do you think Lisbon and I can make a relationship work?"

Erica tilts her head in his direction, considering. "It shouldn't work," she admits. "Whatever the two of you have, it shouldn't work. Two people who carry such baggage—two people who are so inherently solitary—should not be able to function together. And yet, you do."

"You think we'll last?"

Erica nods. "I suspect that, many years down the line, you will die of old age in her arms. She will die a few years after you of a broken heart." She gives him what he thinks is the first genuine smile he's seen from her. "It's every romantic's dream."

Jane swallows. "We'll make it? Even though I'm not good for her?"

"She wants you. She's in love with you. Sometimes that's not enough, but when it comes to the two of you, it will be." She shrugs. "I'm not saying it won't take a lot of work," she qualifies. "But it _will_ work."

The elation Jane feels upon hearing this statement is tempered by the anxiety that makes it difficult to breathe.

"If I don't keep up my end of the bargain—if I give Lisbon's team even a hint of Red John's identity, if I tell them where this home is located—he will kill her."

Erica's look of sadness also appears genuine. "I hope it does not come to that." The look disappears, replaced by her usual bravado. "Red John does not seem to think it will be necessary—you would not sacrifice your Teresa for anything."

"He's right." Jane looks down at his clasped hands. Finally, he says, "What guarantee do I have that he will hold up his end?"

Erica stands up and grabs a scarlet cover-up from the back of her chair, shrugging into it. The gauzy material dances slightly in the breeze as she tugs it around her. Then Erica gives him a sultry smile. She extends a hand to him, and he allows her to pull him to his feet. "Follow me," she says.


	18. Chapter 18

**AN: Thanks for your reviews and feedback on this story. You guys keep me writing!**

* * *

Erica leads him back inside the house, up a flight of stairs, and down a hallway, one wall of which is made entirely of windows. Jane has to look away from the glaring sunlight, but the afterimage lingers, blurring his vision.

After another few steps, Erica opens a dark wooden door and gestures for him to precede her inside. He does so, turning around to look at her when she doesn't step into the room.

"This is Red John's library," she says, and Jane looks around. A large window takes up most of the east wall, but apart from that, the walls of the library are completely lined with bookshelves. And considering that the room probably has more square feet than Lisbon's entire home, Jane thinks this is saying something. He turns back to Erica, who continues speaking, gesturing to the books nearest her right hand. "This bookcase contains everything Red John has ever written: books, articles, lectures. He has graciously given you permission to read them. Don't make him regret his generosity."

And she closes the door behind her.

Jane doesn't move for a few seconds as he mulls this latest development over.

Red John must be fairly sure of Jane's desperation in order to allow him access to these published works, all of which most likely carry the serial killer's real name.

Jane can't say he disagrees.

Intrigued, he moves toward the shelf, reaching for the most pristine of the books, thinking it will be Red John's most recent publication. He pulls out a large, hardcover textbook that appears to be an edited volume. His attention is immediately drawn to the name on the cover.

 _Timothy Carter_.

Jane frowns.

He knows he's heard the name before, but it takes him a while to place it.

Finally, a couple of minutes later, it comes to him. The day the team had been called in to work the case of Paula Greenwood, the temporary janitor, Jane had gone over to Lisbon's apartment. Her TV had been on as they entered her living room, some news program describing how a local college professor had won a national award.

The professor had been named Timothy Carter.

Jane flips open the book to the back inside cover. A picture stares back at him of the man who he'd met in the mall a few weeks ago. Underneath is a brief description.

 _Timothy Carter received his undergraduate degree in criminal justice from Yale University before going on to earn his doctorate at the University of California-Berkeley. He is the Distinguished Chair of the Criminal Justice Department at San Francisco State University and the bestselling author of eleven books, two edited collections, an introductory criminal justice textbook, and over one hundred peer-reviewed journal articles. In his spare time, he often lends his expertise to law enforcement agencies, providing them with search avenues when all other leads have gone cold._

Jane has to read the last sentence twice before he can comprehend it. When he does, he feels ill—that same sentence could very well have been written about his own work with the CBI.

Though Jane half-desires to shove the book back on the shelf, he tucks it under his arm, grabbing several others with his other hand. He moves to the large wooden table in the middle of the room, sets the books down as he sits, and begins to read.

* * *

Though Erica comes in precisely at noon and six o'clock, knocking before she enters, to offer him lunch and dinner, Jane refuses both. Instead, he makes his way through Timothy Carter's bibliography book by book, article by article.

At one point, it occurs to him that being the chair of a criminal justice department means Carter has had a great deal of influence over young students looking to become cops. His omniscient presence at the CBI no longer seems so mysterious.

Jane checks his watch once and is startled to find that it is near midnight. He shivers suddenly, belatedly realizing that the sun had set several hours ago. He rubs his eyes, which have begun to blur everything in his field of vision, and decides to call it a night. He slumps back in the chair, sinking down a few inches, and lets his head come to rest on the back of his chair.

The door opens suddenly, this time without a knock.

"Patrick."

Jane straightens automatically and turns toward the door.

Timothy Carter stands before him, smiling slightly. "I thought I'd find you here," he says, walking over to the table.

Jane watches him intently despite his tired eyes, and Carter pulls out the chair at the end of the table next to where Jane is sitting. He angles his body slightly so that he is facing Jane.

"I thought you were away on business," Jane finally says.

Carter nods. "I was," he confirms. "But Erica kindly let me know that you had given her a call. And your presence here is far more important to me than any business trip. I've been waiting a very long time to make this deal with you."

"You meant that, then?" asks Jane. "What Erica told me?"

"I did," confirms Carter. "I would have proposed a truce a long time ago if I'd thought you were ever in any condition to accept it. But now, things are different." He smiles slightly, and Jane knows who he is thinking about before he even opens his mouth to inquire after her. "How is dear Teresa?"

"Strong. As always," says Jane, wondering why all the air seems to have suddenly disappeared from his lungs. He can tell by Carter's expression that the man knows very well that Jane has confessed his feelings for Lisbon—and that she'd refused him.

Carter reaches up to put a hand on Jane's shoulder. He squeezes slightly before letting go. Jane's jaw clenches. "She'll come around," Carter says. "And if she doesn't, I'm sure you can find ways to change her mind."

"I'm not going to try to change her mind. I respect her decision." Jane takes a shallow breath.

Carter looks like he's mulling his words over before he speaks them. "You know," he says eventually, "I think you love her more than you ever loved Angela. Or Charlotte. At least while they were living."

Jane leans forward, immediately seeking to refute this statement, but he finds he isn't able to. Instead, he crosses his arms over his chest and leans back again.

He certainly hadn't appreciated Angela and Charlotte enough when they were alive. Because of this, he suspects that he really does love them more now than he did before.

"See?" says Carter, his eyes lighting up behind his glasses. "That love right there—that love you feel for the people who are close to you—that's the reason Teresa will eventually change her mind."

Jane rubs a hand over the side of his face. "My feelings for her are hardly a good thing. They're what brought me here, to make this deal with you."

Carter leans forward. "Speaking of our deal, am I right in assuming you know the basic agreement?"

"I do," nods Jane, "but spell it out for me regardless."

Carter places his elbows on the table and laces his fingertips together.

"After you agree to the truce, we become friends," he says simply.

A sick thought occurs to Jane.

He wonders if _friends with benefits_ would be a better way to describe the situation. After all, Jane certainly feels that what he's doing is perverted enough.

Because what he's doing is essentially sleeping with the enemy.

Carter continues, his expression revealing that he clearly knows what Jane is thinking. "I will not touch anyone you care about; in fact, I will do my best to help them. For example, I will get Teresa back her place as the head of the Serious Crimes Unit."

"And in turn, I…"

"You will inform me of everything said Serious Crimes Unit does. Who they interview, which leads they follow, what evidence they collect."

"Why? You already have people in the CBI."

Carter smiles. "You have no idea how close your team has come in the past to breaking my case wide open. My informants have limits—specifically, timing. It often takes me several days to get updates regarding yourself and Agent Lisbon, and, as I've said, sometimes several days cuts it far too short. I'd prefer to know about any developments as soon as they occur so I can prepare accordingly."

"Meaning you want to ensure that there is no way in hell I'll ever catch you."

"It's a fair trade, is it not? My freedom for Teresa's."

Jane closes his eyes. "Yes," he says, his eyes still shut. "It's a fair trade."

Carter taps his fingers on the dark wooden desk. "Now, it goes without saying that you telling Teresa about this deal will immediately make it null and void. That includes giving her information on my identity, my profession, my estate, or anything in any way to do with me."

Jane finally glances at Carter. "If I'm suddenly worthless working your case—and it's becoming more and more obvious that someone close to Lisbon at the CBI is leaking information—she'll become suspicious."

Carter nods. "We'll be careful. I will give you permission to give her certain leads—which, of course, will appear to get her closer to me but will not actually do so. We'll have to strike a balance, but I believe we can manage."

"I asked Erica this earlier, but I wasn't satisfied by her answer. I'm hoping you will do better." Jane sighs. "Why the hell should I believe that you have any intention of actually granting Lisbon immunity?"

Carter gives him an almost sympathetic look. "You essentially have no choice, Patrick. Either you don't act, ensuring that her life will continue to be a living hell, or you do act, running the risk that I will betray you. However, the latter option also has the potential to give you a life of blissful happiness. What choice is there, really?"

There isn't one, of course, but admitting this to himself is the second most difficult thing Jane has ever done in his life.

The most difficult is extending his arm across the table to shake Red John's hand.

* * *

 **AN: I apologize for the lack of Lisbon in the past two chapters. She is essential to this story, but I made a creative decision when I began this fic to focus on Jane's journey. However, Lisbon will feature prominently in the remainder of the chapters!**


	19. Chapter 19

**AN: It's long past time to resolve some of the tension in this story, so I thought I'd update a little early. Hope you guys enjoy this chapter.**

* * *

Jane and Carter spend the next two days negotiating.

At least, this is what Carter calls it. Jane thinks a more accurate description is listening to his prison sentence being read aloud, since all he's really doing is agreeing to sign his life away. There is no active negotiation on his part.

He learns how he will keep in contact with Carter, Erica, and their men. He learns just how much of Lisbon's investigations must be reported back to Carter in order to keep Lisbon in the dark of a potential mole. And most importantly, he learns that agreeing to this will kill him in the end.

Not literally, of course. But merely listening to his future job description twists his stomach into knots, makes him feel unclean and inhuman. He doesn't think his soul can take this for long.

But Lisbon will be safe, and that is all that matters.

* * *

At dusk on the third full day of his captivity, Erica meets him in his bedroom with a syringe needle in her hand.

"It's time to return you to your Teresa," she says. "Red John wishes to drug you so that she will not question your involvement in the kidnapping."

Jane rolls up his shirtsleeve.

* * *

Lisbon has had a headache for the last two days, thirteen hours, and thirty-three minutes.

In other words, she has literally been worried sick ever since she arrived at work on Wednesday morning and received word that Jane had gone missing. Her team has been pouring over nonexistent leads ever since then, focusing on the security camera footage from Jane's motel.

The quality of which, of course, ensured that it proved utterly useless besides confirming the fact that he had been taken.

At gunpoint.

Lisbon has lost track of the number of pills of Tylenol she's dry swallowed to keep the pain at bay. They never seem to fully work. Or perhaps the Tylenol can't cure what's really ailing her.

Lisbon looks down at her desk, and the files in front of her come in and out of focus. She takes a shaky breath, refusing to admit to herself that her team has run out of leads to follow.

She had thought she'd be thrilled to have her job back, but now she realizes she'd take the demotion any day if it meant Jane was back in her arms.

Someone raps on her door, and she jumps, not expecting to hear from anyone at this time of night. But she gets to her feet when she gets a look at Cho, who's standing just inside her door.

"No," she says, shaking her head, ready to fight in the sincerity of her denial. He cannot be bearing bad news. He _can't_ be. She looks through the glass to see Rigsby and Van Pelt on the other side, their expressions, for once, unreadable. Lisbon glances back at Cho. "I don't want to hear it. I don't think I _can_ hear it."

Cho shakes his head. "You're going to want to hear this," he says.

* * *

She can't wait for the elevator.

Instead, she flies down the stairs, skipping some steps and completely missing others, until she reaches the lobby of the CBI on the ground floor. Despite the fact that it's half-past ten, there's a small group of people crowded around just outside the building, and Lisbon rushes across the lobby toward the glass doors. She elbows her way past a couple straggler agents and security guards to find that they are all huddled around a very familiar man dressed in a very wrinkled three-piece suit.

"Oh my god," says Lisbon, now pushing agents out of her way. " _Jane!"_

He's lying on the sidewalk, clearly only somewhat conscious, and the idiots around him are doing nothing to help. Lisbon rolls her eyes. "Did someone at least think to phone an ambulance?" she nearly yells as she drops to her knees to check Jane's vitals.

She vaguely registers Cho's voice behind her. "It's on its way, Boss," he says.

Lisbon breathes deeply for the first time in what feels like days when she gets confirmation that Jane is doing the same. But he's still unresponsive to any of her questions, and her anxiety begins to creep back in. "What did he do to you?" she wonders aloud, her fingers skimming over his neck and then his chest.

She remembers some basic first responder training from a mandatory course she'd taken through the CBI. "I'm sorry," she whispers to Jane, and she rips open his shirt, locates his sternum, and rubs her knuckles roughly against it.

Jane's eyes flash open at the same time he gasps.

Lisbon nearly smiles in relief, and Jane's hand flies to his chest, rubbing the soreness there. "My god," he rasps. "That _hurt_."

Lisbon _does_ smile at this. "That's sort of the point," she says, shifting to grab his shoulders and move his upper torso to her lap so that his back and head are no longer pressed against the concrete.

Jane leans back against her and closes his eyes. "Where the hell am I?" he asks, moving a hand to his face.

"You don't know?" Lisbon asks, concerned. She glances at Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt, all of whom are watching them with expressions of equal parts relief and horror. "Who found him?" she asks.

Cho nods to the head security guard, who steps forward.

"I do rounds every five minutes," he says. "I found him at the front of the building when I went around at 10:25."

"What did you see?"

The guard shakes his head. "Nothing, ma'am. He wasn't there one minute, and the next, he was."

"Check the security footage," Lisbon barks at him. She returns her attention to Jane. "You're at the CBI," she tells him in what she hopes is a soothing voice. "There's an ambulance coming for you in a couple minutes."

Janes groans. "Lisbon, no. No hospitals."

"I don't really care about your irrational fear of doctors right now, Jane. We're going to get you checked out."

Something in her voice must tell him that arguing is futile, so he changes tracks.

"Come with me?" he asks weakly.

"Of course," she says. "You've been missing for three days—I'm not letting you out of my sight again for a very long time." She pulls him against her more tightly, and the movement causes a piece of paper to fall out of the pocket in his vest. The paper floats to the ground, swaying back and forth like a falling feather.

Lisbon leans over to read the five words scrawled across it.

 _Special delivery for Teresa Lisbon._

Her eyes narrow. It's not Jane's handwriting.

It looks like whoever took him captive is feeling playful.

Lisbon looks up to ask Van Pelt to take the note, but the younger agent is already moving, grabbing latex gloves and a plastic bag from her pocket. She snaps on a glove and grabs the paper, placing it in the bag carefully, and turns to Lisbon.

"I'll get this logged and turned into the lab," she says.

"A private lab," Lisbon orders her in a low voice so that the agents around them will not hear. "Send it outside the CBI."

Van Pelt raises an eyebrow at this, but Lisbon knows she can't be too paranoid.

"And tell Cho and Rigsby that the same should be done with any future evidence."

Van Pelt moves her head a fraction of an inch to confirm she understands.

Lisbon turns back to Jane and brushes his unruly curls away from his forehead. He is paler than usual, his only coloring a sickly hint of green.

And then finally, _finally_ , Lisbon begins to hear sirens in the distance.

* * *

Despite his best attempts to charm Lisbon into letting him leave AMA, Jane is admitted to the hospital overnight for observation.

He wonders if he'd have been more successful in making his arguments if he still weren't feeling stupidly slow from whatever drug Erica had given him.

So two hours later, Jane is clad in a hospital gown, and his nurse exits his room, shutting off the lights behind her.

Jane turns his head to the side.

Lisbon is there, sitting in the darkness, her chair pulled up to the side of his bed.

"Hey," she says, reaching over to touch her fingers to his forearm.

"Hi," he says, trying to manage a smile for her.

"Thank you. I know how much you hate hospitals."

"'Hate' is probably not a strong enough word," points out Jane.

Lisbon ducks her head to hide a smile. "'Loathe?'" she asks.

Jane tilts his head slightly, considering. "Closer."

Lisbon meets his eye and doesn't look away. "I spoke with your nurse," she says. "The tranquilizers you were given were pretty heavy stuff." She hesitates before continuing. "Were you struggling? Is that why he felt the need to subdue you?" She pauses again. "It _was_ him, wasn't it?"

Jane decides on telling her a half-truth. "Yes, it was Red John," he says. "And yes, I struggled. How could I not?"

No need to tell her the struggle had been emotional rather than physical.

"He took you."

"Yes."

"Why?"

His answer isn't even a lie, so he feels no guilt in telling her. "He's bored. He wants to raise the stakes, to change the rules."

"And kidnapping you was necessary to tell us that?"

"It wasn't necessary," Jane agrees. "Which is why it's even more terrifying."

"He left me a note," Lisbon whispers. "It fell out of your pocket when I found you." She closes her eyes for a few seconds, as though exhausted, before opening them again and continuing. "I ordered Van Pelt to send it outside the CBI for analysis. We did the same for your tox screen. I'm tired of not getting anything back on our forensic reports."

Jane swallows as he stores this information away. "What did the note say?"

"'Special delivery for Teresa Lisbon.'"

The quiet is too loud for Jane. "Well, at least he got the 'special' part right."

He can see the war within her as she fights to refrain from laughing at this remark. Eventually, however, she looks at him with such great intensity that he wishes he hadn't made the joke at all.

"He treated you like a package," Lisbon whispers. "He took you and then dumped you in front of the CBI like you weren't a person."

"Red John doesn't see people as living, breathing entities," Jane responds. "Or, at least, that's what I tell myself when I inevitably wonder how he can kill the way he does."

Lisbon sighs. "I still don't understand the note."

"You wouldn't. That's the point—I'm sure he wanted me to explain it to you."

Her brow furrows.

"He's been watching us, Lisbon. He knows we had a major argument last week. In fact, I'm sure he knows why. But his plan—hurting you to hurt me—won't work if you've kicked me out of your life, will it? So the kidnapping and the note…they were designed to do exactly what he said: to deliver me to you, to deliver me back into your life."

And as before, these words have a ring of truth to them as well; surely Carter would have recognized that taking Jane was likely to put him back into Lisbon's good graces.

"So why would he want to ensure you told me that?"

"Because he knew I'd make another connection from the note."

"Which is?"

Jane's voice drops in volume unintentionally. "Whoever a package is delivered to has ownership of said package."

"What?"

"I'm yours, Lisbon. Even Red John recognizes that."

She doesn't respond, and in the darkness, it's difficult to read her expression. He listens to her breathing for a while, and eventually he realizes that he's synced his breaths with hers.

"Go home, Lisbon," he says after a few minutes. "Get some rest. You look like you haven't slept since I've been gone."

She shakes her head. "I haven't seen you in days," says Lisbon, and Jane winces, remembering once again that the days they'd gone without seeing each other before his apparent kidnaping had been his fault. "I need to make up for lost time."

"You need to make up for lost _sleep_ ," Jane argues.

Lisbon rolls her eyes. "Fine," she says, leaning back in her chair. "I'll sleep here and keep an eye on you at the same time. Happy?"

"Decidedly not. Your back will protest in the morning if you sleep on that chair."

But she reclines in the lounge chair anyway, reaching for the lever that pops the footrest forward. "Hush, Jane," she says. "I'm trying to sleep."

This time, _he_ rolls his eyes, but he tosses one of his hospital blankets at her. He watches with a smile as she spreads it over her legs.

"Goodnight, Jane," she says, closing her eyes.

He takes one last look at her before closing his as well.

"Sleep well, Teresa."

* * *

Jane feels a bit hungover from the aftereffects of the tranquilizers the next morning, but when his doctor makes rounds just after daybreak, he is deemed fit to be released from the hospital. So after a shower and a change of clothes, brought to him yesterday by a thoughtful Rigsby, Jane books it out of his room, Lisbon following amusedly in his wake.

She crooks at finger at him when they reach the parking lot. "Over here," she says, turning left, and he immediately spots her standard CBI-issue SUV.

She looks at him pointedly over the windshield as he waits for her to open the door. "Please don't tell me I'm taking you back to that god-awful hotel room of yours."

"You are," Jane confirms, "but only so I can check out of it."

Lisbon pauses, her key lifted halfway to the door. "Permanently?" she asks, in a tone that suggests she doesn't believe it.

Jane nods. He avoids her eyes, examining the windshield as though it has suddenly become fascinating. "You were right," he says. "It's time for me to put down roots here. I need to make a home."

"You do?"

"I do. I'm…I'm not ready to buy a house or anything, but leasing an apartment sounds like a good place to start. Baby steps," he adds, rocking forward and backward on his feet, his hand still on the car door.

He watches as Lisbon shakes herself and realizes she still hasn't unlocked the car. She opens her door quickly, and then Jane does the same. They climb into their seats in sync.

Before she starts the engine, Jane looks over at her. "I'd like to take you up on your offer," he says. "Are you still willing to help me look at places? I confess I'd rather like another pair of eyes."

Lisbon glances at him out of the corner of her eye. Jane grins slightly at the wide-eyed expression on her face.

"So," he continues, after the stunned silence continues between them awkwardly. "What do you say?"

He swears he sees the corner of her mouth move upward. Then, a second later, she grins. "Of…of course," she answers. "Yes, of course I'll help you. Did you want to look today?"

Jane shrugs. "You said I was gone for three days, right? So that makes today Saturday? Are you free?"

She still looks a little gobsmacked. "I got my job back after you disappeared," Lisbon informs him. He knows this, of course, but she is not to know that _he_ knows. "I suppose I should be working the Red John case today, but…"

She trails off before continuing.

"You know what?" Lisbon says, starting the engine. "Screw him. You're here, I'm here—we're both _safe_ —and real life needs to come before that damned serial killer for once."

Jane can't help smiling at her like she is everything light and pure in this world.

Because to him, she is.


	20. Chapter 20

**AN: This is my favorite chapter. For reasons that will become glaringly obvious. I hope you like it, too.**

* * *

Though he should have expected it, Jane is completely taken aback when the representative of the first apartment complex that he and Lisbon visit mistakes them for a couple.

He stutters for a millisecond before he feels Lisbon's hand twine around his.

It becomes easier to play along with the charade with every complex they see. By the fourth apartment, he's almost used to the feeling of her fingers against his skin.

"Right," says Lisbon easily, pulling Jane along after her to follow the agent. "Patrick and I are looking for a secure building in a quiet location. Other than that, we're not too picky."

Jane nods as the agent glances at him.

"We have a few units that are ready for move-in," says the agent, walking them across the lobby toward the elevator. "How about I show you the two bedroom, two bath? I know you didn't necessarily say you wanted the extra bedroom, but it's really handy as a guest room—or maybe even, someday down the line, a nursery."

Jane feels a bead of sweat roll down his back at these words, and Lisbon discretely shoots him a grin, clearly having noticed the way his hands have become clammy.

The elevator dings, and they step out, moving down the hall to apartment 420. The agent is smiling and chatting away, and Lisbon nods enthusiastically, still pulling Jane along.

The apartment is gorgeous, Jane admits upon first sight. All the walls and ceilings are a pristine cream color, and the floors are hardwood. They walk down a hallway with several doors leading off of it to make their way to the central living area, which opens up in front of them. Jane immediately notices that the living room is flooded by natural light streaming in from the windows which make up a considerable portion of the south wall.

He doesn't even need to see the rest of the apartment. He's sold already.

But he goes through the motions, asking the right questions at the right times. In about twenty minutes, the agent returns them to the living room.

"So," he says, clasping his hands in front of him eagerly. "What did you think?"

"I really like it," says Jane, looking over at Lisbon. "What about you, love?"

He doesn't realize he's used the endearment until he sees the blush color Lisbon's cheeks. But she holds his gaze, playing her role perfectly. "I like it as well," she says.

"We'll take it," says Jane firmly.

"Wonderful!" says the agent warmly. "If you want, feel free to look around for a few minutes longer. We'll need to fill out some paperwork, so I'll head downstairs to start getting all that in order. Join me when you're ready."

They thank him, and he walks away, closing the door behind him.

Lisbon chooses to ignore Jane's slip-up. "What do you really think?" she asks.

Jane walks over to the windows, which afford him a rather spectacular view of downtown Sacramento.

"Honestly?" he says. "I love it. I'm…"

He pauses, wondering how much he should reveal.

Then one glance back at Lisbon sends his defenses crumbling.

"It's just difficult to think about moving into a place without Angela and Charlotte," he admits. "I think that was one of the reasons I stayed in that hotel for so long."

Lisbon moves toward him but doesn't touch him. "They'll always be with you, Jane. Wherever you go. You'll never be without them."

He's scared to ask his next question, so he does so while still looking out over the city. "Is that how you feel about your mother? About Stan?"

He sees her nod out of the corner of his eye. "Yeah," she says. "I can feel them looking out for me. And when you were missing the past few days, I…for some reason, I felt like they'd started looking out for you, too."

"Your mother never knew me," he points out with a wry grin. "Neither did Stan."

Lisbon smiles at his tone. "You would have managed to charm both of them, I think. My mother especially. She always wanted me to find someone like you."

"A con artist?" he says, and his grin this time is self-deprecating.

Lisbon shakes her head. "No," she argues. She takes a deep breath. "Someone who loves me."

Jane pivots sharply to look at her, and he can't help his jaw from dropping a fraction of an inch.

They'd been putting off discussing the mastodon in the room, instead choosing to revert to the way they'd been before Jane had met Red John in the mall that day. Jane had been perfectly happy to follow Lisbon's lead—he'd meant what he'd said about being content with only being her friend as long as he could have her in his life. It was certainly an improvement over the last couple weeks of their relationship, when they'd essentially been estranged.

But now, Jane feels hope flame up inside him, beginning to thaw his veins from the inside out.

Lisbon closes the distance between them, grabbing his hand for real this time, and they are no longer playing roles in some act.

"I'm sorry," she says quietly. "Jane, I'm so sorry. I let Erica play on my fears when I should have trusted you to know your own heart. I was so stupid."

She's whispering now, and Jane has to incline his head toward her to catch what she's saying.

"I don't think I knew what love could be like until I met you and saw the love you had—the love you _still_ have—for your family. And I should never have doubted your ability to recognize love and to act on it. God, I'm so sorry."

She lifts his hand up and places her other palm on top of it, so that his fingers are sandwiched between hers. Jane feels like the floor of the apartment has disappeared beneath him—he wonders vaguely if he will ever stop free falling.

"I know that I have a lot of stuff to work through," Lisbon says. "I know you do as well. And we have a lot of stuff to work through together. But every single hour you were missing, all I could think was that if I'd never get to see you again, my greatest regret would be not giving us a shot. Because I feel the same way you do. And Jane—I don't want to live with a regret like that. Life is so short. Look at Angela and Charlotte. Look at Stan and my mom."

The way she speaks the last sentences is so gentle that it reminds Jane of a caress, and he has to smile.

Lisbon looks up at him with determined eyes. "Jane, we'd be fools to let happiness pass us by."

The line is a deliberate reference to the film they'd seen together at the old theater, all those weeks ago, and Jane wonders if it's possible to love Lisbon any more than he does at this moment.

"I'm done playing the fool," he says.

"As am I."

He smiles tentatively at her, and she flings himself at him, burying her face in his chest and wrapping her arms around his torso. His arms curve around her shoulders, and he rests his chin on the top of her head.

"Welcome home," he hears her whisper.

He's not sure if she's talking about his new apartment or their new status as a couple or their newly mended friendship.

He has a feeling she means all three.

* * *

Jane's application for the apartment is approved, and he officially signs the lease a few minutes later. When he walks out of the office, Lisbon is already on her phone, and Jane grins as he realizes she's ordering delivery.

"What?" she asks him as she hangs up. "I want to be with you for your first dinner in your new apartment. It's a big deal."

"It is a big deal," agrees Jane. He pauses for a second. "What did you order?"

"Moo shu pork," she says. "And extra egg rolls."

"Have I told you lately that I love you?"

"All I did was order dinner, Jane."

"Not true," he says. "You ordered my favorite delivery meal, you helped me pick out an apartment, and you're going to help me break in my new apartment. So I repeat: I love you."

The elevator doors close on them as they head back to the apartment to wait for their food to be delivered to the lobby. Lisbon looks away, and Jane reads her in an instant.

"I'm not expecting you to say it back," he says, bending over a little so that their eyes are almost level. "Take your time. In fact, take your time with everything. We'll move exactly how quickly or slowly you want."

Lisbon reaches up to place a kiss on the corner of his mouth. "That's sweet," she says. "But I don't want this relationship to be one-sided. We'll work things out based on the right timing for _both_ of us, okay?"

Jane nods, and the elevator doors open. They turn to the left and walk down the hall to his door.

While he's raising the key to the lock, Lisbon tilts her head to the side as though something has just occurred to her.

"What did you say about breaking in your new apartment?" she asks, with clearly feigned confusion.

Instead of answering, Jane opens the door and pulls Lisbon over the threshold, eliminating any and all space between their bodies as he kicks the door closed behind them.

* * *

About twenty-five minutes into a fairly heavy make-out session, the apartment's com system buzzes to let them know their food has arrived in the lobby.

Jane grasps what's left of his self-control and forces himself to string together words into a coherent sentence as he answers. "Thanks," he says as Lisbon kisses her way down his upper arm. "I'll be right down." He hangs up and grabs Lisbon's shoulders, putting an arm's length of distance between them. " _Behave_."

She smirks at him. "Turnabout is only fair," she says. "How many times have I had to say that to you over the years?"

* * *

A few hours later, they end up at her place, huddled together on her couch and shopping for furniture on her laptop.

"What do you think about this?" Jane asks, pointing to a kitchen table set with six chairs.

"Would you stop asking me that?" she says, rolling her eyes. "It doesn't matter what I think of any of this—it's _your_ home."

Jane shrugs. "My assumption was that you'd be spending a significant amount of time there as well."

He leaves as much unsaid as said in this statement— _yes, it's his home, but he also wants it to be hers_ —but she seems to understand the loaded words anyway.

"Oh."

He feels himself blush, a rare occasion. "Yeah," he murmurs.

There's an awkward silence for a second or two before Lisbon reaches over to place her hand on his jaw, turning his face toward her. She kisses him shyly, still feeling out this new phase of whatever it is they are, and then pulls away without a word.

Then, a couple minutes later, she seems to finally regain the ability to speak. "Thank you," she says.

He reaches over to brush her bangs out of her eyes. "You've opened your home to me on many an occasion," he says. "I want to do the same for you." He turns back to the computer. "So truly," he says, refocusing on their previous task. "What do you think of the table?"

Lisbon frowns. "It's lovely, but it's too expensive. Buying it for that price would almost be a crime."

"How do people purchase anything?" Jane wonders. "This was the cheapest set they have!"

Lisbon shrugs. "Well, normal people buy things at Walmart or flea markets…and they don't live off of a consultant's salary."

Jane shakes his head. "Money's not an issue," he says, though he's fairly certain Lisbon knows about his offshore bank accounts.

Her lack of a reaction tells him he's right. "Well, if you really like it, then, you should buy it. You deserve to splurge on yourself after years of minimal spending."

Jane nods. "Splurging is definitely acceptable—I'm building a home."

She kisses his shoulder and settles against him.

"Yes," she says. "You are."


	21. Chapter 21

**AN: Thanks again for your continued interest in this story (and for the amazing response to last chapter). We're past the two-thirds mark in this story, so we're nearing the end. Hang in there!**

* * *

Around noon the next day, Lisbon drops him off at the parking lot of his old motel to retrieve his Citroen. They hesitate, standing between their two cars in the nearly deserted lot in the boiling heat of midday.

He wants nothing more than to remain by her side for every minute he has left in his life, but their relationship is so new, so fragile, and he is afraid to push things too far. So, instead, he reaches for her hips and moves her toward him, leaning down to kiss her.

When her arms come up to wrap around his neck, he's pretty sure she can feel his ridiculous grin, and this only makes him smile more.

"I should let you go," he murmurs against her.

"Should you? Maybe. Do I want you to? Not particularly," says Lisbon. He feels his heart somersault in his chest at her words.

He's never been so reluctant to pull away from her. "We need to slow down."

She eliminates the distance he's put between them. "Debatable."

Jane kisses her once more before pulling away for good. "I had no idea Teresa Lisbon was such a rule-breaker."

He's never seen her green eyes so intense. "Only regarding things I really care about," she responds.

He nearly gathers her in his arms again but forces himself to reach for his keys. "I'll see you tomorrow," he says.

A look of worry suddenly flashes across her face, but she's quick to hide it. "Jane, about work…"

"I know," he says. "You're concerned about professionalism. I promise I'll behave."

"You will?"

He chuckles. "Lisbon," he says. "You forget that you are holding all the cards in this relationship." He elaborates at her look of confusion. "Making you angry would only lead to problems in our personal life. I'm keen to avoid any such problems—hence, I'll be on my best behavior at the office."

Jane watches as comprehension dawns on her. She flushes. "Whatever works," she murmurs, and Jane laughs again.

He leans over to kiss her on the check. "Until tomorrow," he says.

"See you then," he hears her answer, and he watches her get in her car and drive away before unlocking his Citroen and climbing in. He takes a deep breath, then opens the glove compartment.

Inside, as he'd expected, lies a burner phone. Jane turns it on, not surprised to find only one number programmed into the contacts.

He debates waiting until he's made it back to his new apartment to make the call he's been dreading for more than a day, but he eventually decides calling Red John in his new home would taint it forever. Instead, he hits the dial button before starting up his car.

Carter answers after the second ring.

"Patrick," says the too-cheery voice. "I was expecting to hear from you. How are things in Sacramento?"

"Fine." Though he makes a deliberate attempt to keep the bitterness out of his voice, Jane's tone is clipped.

"So that silly little misunderstanding between you and Teresa has been cleared up?"

Jane would hesitate to call his argument with Lisbon "silly," "little," or a "misunderstanding," but he doesn't tell Carter this. "Yes, we've patched things up."

"I hear you've signed a lease. And in a very safe neighborhood as well. You have my word: no harm will come to Teresa while she is there with you."

"No harm will come to Teresa _at all_ ," Jane corrects.

"Ah, yes—I'll hold up my end if you hold up yours. So you have information for me?"

Jane rattles off the words before he loses his nerve. "Lisbon ordered her team to send any evidence regarding your case outside the CBI for analysis. So far, that includes the note and my tox screen."

Carter waits a few moments before responding. "An intriguing move," he muses. "Some might call it paranoid, in fact." Jane hears him breathe in deeply before beginning to speak again. "She's a smart woman, your Teresa. And thank you, Patrick, for informing me of this. It is exactly the sort of information which I find invaluable."

Before Carter can disconnect, Jane hurries to add one more thing.

"You wanted to know when I planned to travel out of the state," he says in a low voice, hating that he has to do this.

He thinks back to his days at Carter's mansion, when they'd gone over their contract. Though Jane had had just one condition—Lisbon's safety, and that of her team and family—Carter had had several.

Including informing him of any major travel plans.

"Yes, I did," confirms Carter.

"I want to surprise Lisbon with a trip to New York this weekend," says Jane. "We'd leave on Friday afternoon and return Monday morning to prevent her from missing much work."

Jane feels as though bile rather than blood is flowing through his veins. He's disgusted that he has to do this—that he has to ask permission to live his life, that Carter will be privy to private information regarding Jane's relationship with Lisbon.

"Ah, so you really _did_ patch things up. Yes, of course, Patrick. Enjoy yourselves while you are there. I'll ensure your absence is not noticed at the CBI."

And they hang up without exchanging any further words.

Jane drops the burner phone in the passenger seat and then leans his forehead against the steering wheel, willing himself to stop shaking.

He finally composes himself enough to realize that he needs a safe location to keep the phone. It can't remain in his car, or even anywhere in his new apartment—what if Lisbon were to stumble across it?

For now, he decides the best solution is to hide it away in his attic. Though Lisbon often ventures up there when she is looking for him, she seldom is there for long enough to sleuth around. Plus, hiding the phone at the CBI will ensure he doesn't have to make trips to some location across the city at a random hiding spot—these trips would surely be noticed.

He hates the idea of hiding his secret in the CBI, which he knows Lisbon has come to think of as almost holy ground, but he sees no better solution.

Jane rubs his eyes, puts his seat belt on, and starts the ignition.

* * *

Jane picks up some linens and kitchen essentials on his way to his new apartment. He realizes he'd gone a little overboard in his shopping when it takes him four trips to bring his purchases to the apartment from the underground garage.

As if on cue, the mattress, box spring, and bedframe he'd bought yesterday are delivered five minutes after he puts the last turquoise Fiesta ware dish away. The delivery man helps him put the frame together, and half an hour later, Jane surveys his bedroom from the door, trying to comprehend the fact that—after nearly a decade—he has a home again.

* * *

Just as the sun begins to sink into the sky, the com system buzzes. Jane frowns, knowing he isn't expecting any more deliveries until tomorrow at the earliest.

He heads to the phone and picks up the receiver. "Yes?"

"It's me," comes Lisbon's voice. He is immediately aware that she sounds far more flirtatious—and far more nervous—than usual. "Are you free?"

"For you? Always," Jane answers, and he buzzes her in.

She's at his door in another minute. "Hey you," she says, and he glances over her, noting that she's holding her hands behind her back as though hiding something.

He gives her a soft smile. "Hello," he says, leaning in to kiss her.

She pulls back far too quickly for his liking and sidesteps around him, keeping her back turned away from him, and she walks backward down the hall. He shoots her a curious look. "What's up?" he asks.

She moves into the living room, and he follows her. The sunset is streaming through the windows, bringing out the hints of red in Lisbon's hair, but she is the one who lights up the room.

"I got you a housewarming present," she says. She immediately amends this. "Or two."

His response is automatic. "Lisbon, you didn't have to—"

She waves him off. "I know. But I think you'll really like it."

Lisbon steps toward him and brings her right hand out from behind her back. She's holding a picture frame, and Jane reaches for it curiously. He sucks in a breath when he realizes what picture lies behind the glass.

He's speechless.

It's an old photograph of Angela and Charlotte on the beach at their old Malibu home. Angela's smile is radiant, and the sound of Charlotte's laughter twists around him for the first time in nearly a decade.

He's not prepared for the intensity of the memories the photograph elicits.

Jane glances up at Lisbon, stunned. "Where did you get this?" he asks, his voice tight.

Lisbon looks worried, as though maybe her plan has backfired. "I went to visit Sam and Pete this afternoon," she says quietly. "Did I overstep? I'm sorry—I didn't mean—"

"No," says Jane immediately. "No; God no. This is…wow." He swallows. "This is the perfect gift. Thank you."

And he leans forward to kiss her again.

When he pulls away, she says, "You mentioned yesterday that you couldn't imagine a home without Angela and Charlotte. Well, now you don't have to."

Jane looks down at the picture. "I don't have any photographs of them here with me in Sacramento," he murmurs. "I could never forget what they looked like, of course, but…it's been a long time since I've seen their faces." A thought occurs to him. "You know," he says. "I don't have any photographs of you, either."

Lisbon blushes, and it registers to Jane that her left hand is still hidden behind her back. "Well," she says. "About that…"

And she pulls out another picture frame.

For the second time in as many minutes, Jane is floored.

It's a framed version of the photograph he'd discovered while snooping around her place the night he'd crashed on her couch: some old crime scene, and Jane is looking at Lisbon like she is the answer to every riddle he could ever hope to solve. Once again, he wonders how his feelings for her could have been so plainly written all over his face but simultaneously hidden in his heart.

"I…" Jane starts, but he finds himself, once again, unable to speak.

Lisbon seems to understand. "You're welcome," she whispers.

Jane sets the picture frames down on the island in the kitchen and moves back to Lisbon. This kiss is nothing like their previous ones: it's all earnestness and tenderness, and it's slow and sweet. Lisbon pulls back after a few minutes, looking up at him, and she rises up on her tiptoes to kiss his forehead.

"You are so loved, Jane," she says. "By so many."

He drops his forehead to her shoulder and breathes her in.


	22. Chapter 22

**AN: Thanks for your comments and kind words! I'm not able to respond to all of them, but I do read them all. Hopefully this chapter is similarly thought-provoking!**

 **I'm going to try to finish posting this story in the next couple weeks. I have five more chapters written but not edited, and I probably have two chapters left to write. So updates should be every couple days or so.**

* * *

Jane decides to arm himself with a coffee and bearclaw before proposing his planned getaway to Lisbon, realizing that his chances of getting her to agree to skip work are much higher if she's properly fed and caffeinated.

She's already there, of course, when he arrives, filling out paperwork at her desk, and he has to push some of the papers aside to make room for his offerings.

Her eyes narrow at him suspiciously. "What did you do?" she asks. Despite this, she takes a couple gulps of the coffee and then tears off part of the bearclaw.

Jane's eyebrows skyrocket in an exaggerated expression of innocence. "Me? I'm just bringing my girlfriend breakfast—since I have a feeling she failed to procure sustenance on her own this morning."

Even though he'd closed the door to her office behind him, he keeps his voice low, respecting her wishes to downplay their relationship, though he grins when she fumbles with her pen as he says the word "girlfriend." The pen rolls away from her, and Jane snatches it before it can topple off the edge of the desk.

Her holds it out to her, and she takes it from him, her steady fingers giving nothing away. Her wide eyes reveal more.

"'Girlfriend,'" she quotes, as though testing the word out.

He leans his hip against the side of her desk, crossing his arms across his chest.

" _My_ girlfriend," corrects Jane, and he is not prepared for how ridiculously pleased he feels when she smiles at this.

Lisbon ducks her head, returning to the papers in front of her. " _Your_ girlfriend," she says, "has about two hours' worth of paperwork to fill out regarding your kidnapping."

"Ridiculous," says Jane, still leaning against her desk. "I was gone; now I'm back. Why does that need to be recorded in ink?"

She gives him an exaggerated roll of her eyes as she signs her name on several lines, one after the other.

"Ask that question to the powers that be," says Lisbon with a shrug.

Jane moves around the corner of the desk so that he's standing next to her. "Speaking of questions, I have a proposal to make."

He hadn't realized how this would sound before the words are out, and he hurries to reassure her upon seeing her face lose all of its remaining color.

"Not _that_ kind of proposal," he says gently. "Though of course I won't rule it out someday."

Lisbon gapes at him, and he decides to move onto his real question before he digs himself into a hole from which he can't escape.

"How would you feel about leaving work a few hours early this Friday and showing up a couple hours late next Monday?"

Lisbon takes another gulp of coffee. Jane is relieved when she doesn't immediately say no.

"Depends on the occasion."

Jane grins.

"Refusing to let happiness pass us by," he says, knowing she'll understand.

She immediately picks up on the reference to the film they'd seen together. "You didn't," she says, her tone half worried and half disbelieving, but her expression is all excitement.

"I didn't buy any tickets yet," he confirms. "But only because I knew you wouldn't like me overstepping bounds. I wanted to ask you first. So Lisbon—what do you say? How about a weekend in New York?" He'd promised he would take her there sometime. And he'd always intended to make good on that promise he'd made in the darkened, deserted theater.

He watches her internally debate this, knowing she'll feel guilty for leaving work—if only for a few hours—so soon after her brother's murder and so soon after getting her position back. But eventually, the same expression crosses her face that she wore when she agreed to spend the day helping him look for apartments rather than going into work, and he knows that despite everything, she is making a commitment to living here, to living now, with him.

Her smile makes him literally weak in the knees, and he tries to reach for the desk surreptitiously to steady himself.

"I'd love that," Lisbon finally says.

"I'll book the tickets." He knows she's trying to keep all this under wraps, but he has a feeling he's going to let the secret out because he won't be able to wipe the stupid grin off his face.

Lisbon reaches out to touch his elbow. "I'll book the tickets and the hotel tonight," she says. "You paid for everything in Chicago; I got this."

"New York is more expensive."

"Then you can pay for the shows," she says. "But at any rate, don't book anything while we're on the clock, Jane. We need to be above reproach."

But even her gentle chiding cannot dampen his mood.

She shakes her head at him. "Go," she says, waving him out of her office. "Help Barnett out with that mountain of evidence she's sifting through."

He'd been so preoccupied with Lisbon that he hadn't even noticed the rookie agent had taken over the conference table in the bullpen, surrounded by evidence boxes, bags, and chain of custody forms.

Jane frowns. "She's still here?"

Lisbon glances at him.

"I just assumed that since you got your job back, Barnett would have been reassigned."

"I think it's a temporary thing," admits Lisbon. "But it seemed unfair to give her to another team so quickly after she'd arrived here. She didn't do anything wrong, after all." She looks through the glass and into the bullpen. "She'll make a good agent someday," Lisbon continues. "She noticed we'd hit a dead end on, well, pretty much everything associated with Red John, so she went down to Evidence and pulled everything on the most recent cases to see it for herself."

Jane straightened up and moved around Lisbon's desk, peering out at the younger agent as well.

"She was working my case?" he asks, referring to his abduction.

Lisbon nods. "She was the one who phoned the ambulance when she heard you'd been found." She glances at him. "I think she's clean, Jane," she murmurs.

He'd already come to this conclusion himself, of course, but he's relieved that Lisbon thinks the same. "I agree. I don't think she's working for him."

"So help her out?" asks Lisbon. "Make her feel a part of the team, alright?"

Jane gives her a soft smile. "Of course, my dear."

And he exits her office, the glass door swinging shut behind him.

Grace nods at him when he walks into the bullpen, her expression unreadable, and he wonders vaguely if she knows that he and Lisbon are together. He suspects that _she_ suspects as much, though she has too much tact to say anything to him.

"Where are Cho and Rigsby?" asks Jane.

"Testifying," says Grace. "They were subpoenaed for the Williams case from a few months ago."

Jane moves toward the conference table and pulls out the chair next to Barnett, who is meticulously taking notes on evidence from the Antonia Sutton case. She looks up at him, wide-eyed for a second before recovering a more neutral expression.

"Need a hand?" asks Jane, sitting down.

"That'd be great," she says, nodding.

Barnett is quiet yet intuitive, and Jane thinks that if it were possible to mix Cho's and Grace's personalities, the result would be very much like the new agent. Over the two hours they sit together combing over everything from diaries to purses to personal effects, she asks him a handful of questions, all of them insightful, and Jane thinks that Lisbon had been exactly right in her statement earlier.

Barnett will make a great agent someday.

Jane frowns suddenly, halfway through the personal effects of Deborah Cole, the victim who'd been found at the old movie theater. He'd been digging through her wallet before coming across a well-hidden slit containing a single slip of paper that had failed to be removed from the wallet upon the first run through of evidence. He removes the paper.

It's a ticket stub, he realizes, from an event at Sac State dated to the beginning of the summer.

Jane freezes when he realizes the event was held by the psychology department. He examines the stub more closely. Though it's slightly worn, he can just make out the words.

 _The Sac State Psychology Department Welcomes Dr. Timothy Carter_

Jane realizes the date on the ticket reads May 16th—the day after he'd met Carter in the mall.

He's been still too long, drawing Barnett's attention. "You find something?" she asks.

"No," says Jane, and his voice doesn't waver at all. "Just an old movie ticket."

Barnett returns to perusing the evidence in front of her.

When she's not looking, Jane slips the ticket stub into his pocket. Now concerned, he reaches for Cole's daily planner, hoping she hadn't written down the event.

He swears internally when he realizes she had.

Jane moves through every page in the planner, being careful not to linger too long on the week of May 16th. But even a glance at the page tells him all he needs to know.

 _Carter guest lecture: 7 PM_

He begins to panic, knowing there are at least two pieces of evidence tying Carter's identity to the crime scenes. He wonders how it's possible that Red John had chosen now to become so careless—now that Lisbon's safety depends on Jane keeping her from figuring out who he really is.

Jane knows he has to take the planner as well. This, however, will prove more difficult to remove than the ticket stub. He doubts the ticket stub was listed on the chain of custody forms; the planner will undoubtedly have been.

Well, Red John will just have to figure out a way to alter the forms, Jane thinks. It's not like he's lacking the connections. And Jane himself certainly cannot manage it.

His opportunity arises when Lisbon calls Barnett into her office for a quick meeting, and Jane tucks the planner into the pocket on the inside of his suit jacket before she returns.

For the remainder of the day, the ticket stub and planner rest over his heart, literal and metaphorical weights that threaten to drown him.

* * *

Jane waits until Lisbon heads to an interrogation before moving upstairs to his attic.

He pushes the desk to the side, uncovering a floorboard he'd once noticed was loose. The piece of wood is easily removed, and Jane stashes the planner and ticket stub there before moving to cover it back up.

He pauses.

Remembering the burner phone still in his pocket, he straightens up and dials the only number programmed into it.

"Patrick." This time, Carter's voice sounds slightly surprised. "More news for me so soon?"

"The new recruit was going through evidence on your four most recent murders," says Jane, knowing his time is limited and not bothering with pleasantries. "She nearly stumbled on something directly tying you to one of them and indirectly tying you to two of the others."

"Yes?"

"You gave a talk at Sac State at the beginning of the summer," Jane says, keeping his voice low. "Deborah Cole had a ticket stub from that event in her purse, and she noted it in her planner." He considers this for a moment. "That _is_ the connection, isn't it?" he asks. "The Sac State Psychology Department. Your public lecture was held the day after you and I met at the mall. Did you choose your victims at that talk?"

Carter is quiet for a second too long, and this is all the answer Jane needs.

"You have a man in CBI Evidence, don't you?" asks Jane.

"I own _both_ of the men who work in Evidence for your unit," says Carter. His tone is clearly aggravated, as though he'd found it insulting that Jane would have to ask.

"Tell them they need to alter the evidence logs," Jane says. "I removed the ticket stub and the planner. I'm putting them in my attic—I assume your men have told you about this room?"

"I knew about it the day after you found it," Carter confirms. "My men will collect the evidence from your dingy little attic."

Jane breathes deeply through his nose. "This shouldn't have been necessary," he nearly hisses. "There shouldn't have been any evidence for Lisbon's team to find. Why were you so careless?"

He's suddenly furious—at Red John, at the situation, but mostly at himself. When he'd made the deal with Carter, he'd known what he was getting into. But actually tampering with evidence, actually impeding one of Lisbon's investigations, has shaken him to the core.

A thought occurs to him.

"This was a test," Jane says slowly, disbelieving. "Because you _wouldn't_ actually be so careless. You planned this after we met but before the lecture at Sac State. You knew I'd eventually agree to your terms, and you _wanted_ me to find that evidence. You planted it. You wanted to know if I'd actually tell you about it, or if I'd give it to Lisbon."

There's a soft chuckle on the other end of the line. "You are mostly correct in your assumption," confirms Carter. "Yes, I wanted you to find the evidence. Yes, I knew you'd agree to work for me. However, I didn't plan this after we met. I knew I would pick three young women from the crowd during my lecture the moment you revealed to me that you were in love with Teresa."

Jane's grip on the phone becomes so tight he feels his muscles protest against the action. He makes a conscious effort to relax, and he almost ends the call. But then Carter begins speaking again.

"Congratulations, Patrick," says the nasally voice on the other end of the line. "You've passed."


	23. Chapter 23

**AN: Thanks again for your support of this story! Without further ado, here's chapter 23...**

* * *

Jane opens the door to the hotel room and feels his jaw drop.

"Alright, I'm paying you back for half of this," he says, immediately feeling guilty. The room is beyond lavish—from the mahogany furniture to the enormous flat screen television to the towel on the bed that's folded in the shape of some exotic flower that Jane can't name.

Lisbon brushes past him into the room, shaking her head. "Jane, you're being ridiculous. I make good money. More than you do, I might add. And I hardly ever splurge on anything. Let me get this one."

She deposits her bag on the floor and heads to the window, where she opens the curtain to get a better view of the city at night.

He makes to follow her but freezes when his eyes dart back to the bed.

Back in Chicago, he'd booked two.

There's only one in this room.

He's suddenly nervous, and he keeps his hands at his sides, knowing that if he raises them at all, his shaking fingers will be all too obvious. He feels a little lightheaded, and his vision tunnels for a second before he gets himself back under control.

But despite all this, he feels a small smile cross his face.

He tears his gaze away from the champagne comforter and moves to Lisbon's side in three steps. Then he reaches out for her hip tentatively, somewhat amazed that despite the bright lights and pull of the city 28 floors below him, he only has eyes for her.

She leans into him, and suddenly he can't breathe.

Picking up on the tension in his muscles, Lisbon turns in his arms. "You alright?"

He nods. "Of course."

She sighs. "I'm going to ask that question again, and you're not going to lie to me this time. Patrick, are you alright?"

He can't control it; his eyes flash to the bed.

Lisbon reads him immediately.

"Did I overstep?" she asks tentatively.

He shakes his head. "No," he manages to get out. "I just…it's, ah…it's been a while for me." He glances down at her eyes before looking away again. "But you already knew that." He feels her grab his hand as he continues. "I guess what I'm trying to say is…I'm nervous."

He can't immediately pinpoint the look that crosses her face. But then Lisbon bites her bottom lip, and he thinks she's trying to stop her eyes from misting over.

She raises her other hand to rest on the back of his neck. "I love when you're honest with me," she whispers.

Jane pushes down the flood of guilt that washes over him at these words, choosing instead to focus on their positive connotations.

Lisbon rocks forward onto her toes, brushing a kiss against the corner of his mouth. "It's after midnight," she says. "I'm exhausted. And so are you; I can tell." She gives him a look he's never seen before. It's soft and unsure yet strong all at once. "Will you just hold me tonight?"

Her hand slides from his neck to his chest, coming to rest over his heart, which gradually starts to pump less erratically.

"I love you," he says, and he lets her pull him toward the bed.

* * *

They end up wandering through Central Park around midday, finally settling under a large tree in order to escape the blazing intensity of the summer sun. They fall into a comfortable silence, stealing glances at one another while pretending to people watch.

About fifteen minutes after sitting down, Lisbon speaks. "I'm glad you asked me to come here," she says. "I needed to get away for a while."

She's lying on her back, looking up at the leaves above them, one hand tucked behind her head. Jane props himself up on one elbow and looks over at her.

"How…how are you holding up?" he asks gently.

They haven't spoken much about Stan's death. They've spoken even less about how she is dealing with it.

"I miss him," Lisbon whispers. "And, uh, I mostly just feel like I've been carrying around this heavy weight since he died. Sometimes the weight makes it difficult to breathe." She looks over at him. "Is that how it felt when Angela and Charlotte died?"

He nods. "Kind of. For me, it was like there was a weight pulling me down underwater. When I was admitted to the hospital, suddenly there was this bubble of air around me—so even though I was underwater, I could still breathe."

"Do you think you'll ever resurface?" Lisbon asks.

"I already did," he says quietly.

Her brow furrows. "When?"

Jane shrugs. "It happened gradually, so I can't pinpoint it exactly. But I'm pretty sure it began around the moment I first shook your hand."

"Yeah?" She sounds like she can't quite believe him.

He smiles. "Yeah." He drapes his arm over her stomach. "So I promise you, that weight will lessen over time, Lisbon."

"But it won't go away?"

"Would you want it to?"

She shakes her head. "No."

He nods. "I feel the same. It's like you said—I carry them with me. Always." He looks down at his left hand as he speaks. "And on that topic," he says, "there's something I want to talk to you about."

Lisbon follows his gaze, rolling over onto her side so that she can face him. Her eyes move back to his.

Jane twists his ring. "I know you're too tactful to say anything about it, but I also know that you've been wondering when I will take off my ring. Or if I'll take it off at all."

Lisbon doesn't contradict him, and he is grateful. "I understand, Jane. I always have."

He sighs. "But just because you understand doesn't mean you're okay with it. And I'll be the first to admit you shouldn't be. I've seen the looks we've been getting at the hotel and at restaurants—people catch a glance of a ring on my finger but not on yours, and they assume the worst. I don't want that for you."

"And I don't give a damn what other people think."

He gives her a wry smile. "Then you're much stronger than I am," he admits. "Because I really can't stand the thought of people assuming the worst about you."

And he moves to twist the ring off his finger.

Lisbon reaches out to stop him. "Wait," she says. "I don't want you to take off the ring before you're ready."

The very fact that she says these words makes Jane more certain that he is, in fact, ready, and he pulls the band away. Lisbon breathes in sharply.

But then she shakes her head. "Jane, this shouldn't just be about me. You need to think of yourself, too." She sits up, pulling him with her, and she gestures for him to give her the ring. "I propose a compromise."

His insides somersault at her particular word choice, but he hands the ring over to her. Lisbon looks down and reaches for his right hand, sliding the band onto his ring finger. Then she looks up at him expectantly, still holding onto his hand. "Is this okay?"

He glances down to study their hands, both of his held in both of hers. There's a thin white band of light skin on his left ring finger, and Lisbon rubs her thumb over it reassuringly. Jane's eyes flash to his right hand. He's surprised to find how natural the ring looks there.

He realizes all at once what moving the ring means for him, and for a second he's overwhelmed by the realization that he no longer considers himself married.

But then he looks at Lisbon, who's still looking at him with a gaze of concern, and it occurs to him that he hasn't really considered himself married since before he fell in love with her.

He can't find it in himself to even get out the single syllable that a "yes" would require, so he nods instead, trying to get his emotions in check. But then he lets them show anyway, knowing that Lisbon deserves this truth far more than all the lies he's given her.

And almost as though his subconscious is aware of this, as though it wants to cancel these lies out with more truths, Jane begins speaking again without thinking about the words tumbling out of his mouth.

"I want to have another child," he blurts out.

He feels Lisbon's hands jerk suddenly under his own, and her eyes widen.

Jane shifts his hands so that he can grab hold of hers, and he pulls them toward his chest. "I've been thinking a lot about us," he begins. "About our future. I know it's kind of soon—okay, _really_ soon—to start discussing this, but I want you to know how much you...this... _us_ means to me, and making plans for the future seemed like a good way to do that."

He pauses to let her respond. When she remains silent, he begins to panic.

"Sorry," he says, looking away. The world is suddenly off-kilter. "That was too much. I should have known that was too much. I'm sorry."

She pulls her hands away from him. His heart sinks.

But then a hesitant finger lifts his chin, and her seeking lips encounter his own. The world becomes right again.

Lisbon presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth and pulls back slightly. "You just surprised me, that's all," she says. Her eyes are intense when he meets them. "I've thought about our future, too—and yes, I wondered if children were part of that future. But I was terrified to bring it up because I thought it would make you sad."

She doesn't have to mention Charlotte's name.

He reaches up to brush Lisbon's hair away from her face with trembling fingers. "Teresa, talking about having children with you elicits many emotions in me, but I can assure you that sadness is not one of them." He can't help smiling. "You're serious?"

Lisbon nods. "I've always wanted children."

"You've never said anything."

"I never thought I'd have the opportunity to have children of my own," she admits. "It was easier not to acknowledge that."

"So you'd be okay with...with starting a family?"

A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth, and she nods. Then she blushes. "I think any child of ours is going to be absurdly adorable," she admits.

He grins. "Between the two of us, there's no chance of anything else than green eyes."

He watches as she visibly melts in response to these words. "Maybe a hint of blue," she says, moving her thumb up to brush the skin at the corner of his eye.

"Probably will be born with a full head of dark hair," Jane continues.

Lisbon reaches out to run a hand through Jane's curls. "I'm kind of partial to your coloring," she says.

Jane throws caution to the wind. "Our first might have your hair. Our second might have mine."

He watches as her hand moves to cover her abdomen. He doesn't think she's aware of the action, but it sends chills through Jane.

"I'd like that," she says finally.

Moisture is building in his eyes. He reaches for Lisbon, one hand at her lower back and one hand reaching to cover her own on her stomach, and encourages her to lie back down in the grass. She does, her normally-porcelain skin bright with flushed color.

"I'm on the pill," she says suddenly, her voice a mere whisper. "Should I not be?"

"Do we want to move that quickly?" He moves to lean over her, brushing his fingertips across her check. Her eyes flutter closed.

"I'm certainly not getting any younger," she murmurs. "But, uh..." She struggles for words, but Jane thinks he knows where she's going with this.

"I'd like to have you to myself for a little bit longer," he admits.

She smiles, her eyes still closed. "Good," she says. "So later...but not _too_ late."

"Exactly."

He moves her hand, presses a kiss to her wrist, and then return his attention to her abdomen, lifting her shirt to brush his lips to the skin he's uncovered. She opens her eyes.

Even over the sounds around them—the bustle of the city, the high-pitched yells of children in the park—he can hear her breathing. He realizes with a jolt that the sounds of his breaths are just as loud. Jane looks up to meet Lisbon's eyes.

He's never seen them so dark.

"Hotel?" he whispers.

He knows she's just as frightened as he is, but he is relieved when she gives him a small smile.

He pulls her to her feet.


	24. Chapter 24

**AN: Alrighty, folks...so we definitely toe the line between T and M in this chapter. If that's not your cup of tea, skip to the page break!**

 **And, as always, thanks for your comments and words of encouragement.**

* * *

It's not how he expects.

As it turns out, it's far better.

He turns to face her after shutting the door to their hotel room behind them, and she looks smaller than usual, having exchanged her heels for practical ballet flats. She takes a deep breath, and he can literally see her body shake as she inhales. He pulls her against him, smiling against her lips and willing her nerves away.

Jane thinks he can pinpoint the exact moment when her anxiousness is replaced by arousal. How he knows this, he's not entirely sure: her pulse doesn't speed up or slow down, but there's something different in the air between their bodies.

Or the _lack_ of air between them.

Tentatively, he reaches for the hemline of her shirt, knowing he has to be the one to make the first move. She moves her arms over her head without resistance, pulling back from him slightly when he pulls the shirt over her head.

They find each other again immediately after.

He grins when he realizes that she's somehow managed to divest him of his jacket without his notice; she's already moved to the buttons on his vest. His shirt follows soon after, though her fingers fumble slightly on the last few buttons. He helps her out.

The shirt rustles as it's tossed to the ground, barely audible over the sound of their breathing. Jane is floored, wondering how it's possible that Lisbon—normally so composed, so stoic—is letting him see her raw for once.

He lifts her up, and her legs wrap around his waist exactly as they did weeks ago.

"Second time's the charm?" he whispers roughly, and she giggles.

Actually _giggles._

He steadies her with his hands and walks forward, letting her back come to rest against the wall, and he hears her shoes fall to the ground. She shivers at the cold surface, pushing herself against him in response. Jane gives her a last kiss before pulling away to explore more of her body. When his lips reach the tops of her breasts, her head falls backward, and Jane's hand shoots up to stop her from hitting her skull against the wall.

Lisbon smiles at him. "Ever the gentleman," she whispers.

"Only if that's what you want."

He swears he can actually see her pupils dilate as he says these words, and he stores the response away in his memory palace.

Lisbon gives him a coy smile. "I'll remember that for future reference," she says. "Right now I'm kind of enjoying the gentleman."

"In that case," says Jane, and he shifts her slightly, stepping back and wrapping his arms around her torso. He moves them away from the door and toward the bed, flicking open the catch on her bra.

He sets her down, and she lets the bra fall to the floor. She reaches for the button on her jeans, but Jane grabs her hand in his, brings it to his lips, and pops the button with his other hand.

The last of their clothes are discarded.

Then suddenly the world speeds up, the mattress dips, and he is guiding her to lay down, her hair sprawled over the champagne pillows.

"I love you," he says. She gives him a blinding smile and shifts her hips, encouraging him to join his body with hers.

He does so.

She gasps, and he stills. "Teresa?" he whispers, his eyes roving over her face, concerned.

But her eyes have rolled back, and she groans as he moves slightly. He repeats the movement, gets the same response.

"Tease," she murmurs, and moves her ankles to rest on his lower back. _He_ groans this time at the heightened sensation.

"My god," he says.

She hums against him.

The sound amplifies his arousal, but he pulls back, reaching underneath her to bring her up with him. He sits back, and she rests her weight on him, still moving together. When she lifts herself up only to settle herself down again, Jane almost swears in agony.

Lisbon actually does so.

"Fuck," she says.

Jane grins against her lips and rests his hands on her hips. "We are."

Lisbon snorts then kisses him again. His hands move to her breasts, and her laughter is strangled into another gasp.

He kisses each breast as she begins to move again. Slowly. Torturously.

He moans, not sure how much more of this he can take. " _Please_ ," he pleads.

But she just smiles, giving him a small tilt of her head that he takes to mean she wants to change positions. He lays her back down.

"You take the lead on this one, alright?" says Lisbon softly.

He knows how momentous it is for that sentence to come out of her mouth. He doesn't need to be told twice.

He covers her body with his once more, braces himself on his forearms, and begins to thrust.

A few seconds pass, the bed creaking just barely with every impact. Lisbon reaches up to stroke his face. "Patrick," she says, and he looks at her, never breaking his rhythm. "Don't hold back," she whispers.

So he doesn't.

* * *

He rests his head on her chest, listening to her heart slow.

"I'm so happy," she murmurs, and her chest vibrates with her words under his ear.

Jane turns slightly to brush his lips against her collarbone before kissing his way up her throat and then finally meeting her lips.

"Me, too," he says in between kisses, and he shivers when she ghosts her fingers up his spine. "God, woman," he groans, flipping over onto his back and pulling her on top of him. Her hair falls over one shoulder, tickling his nose, and he brushes it aside before guiding her lips back to his with a hand at the back of her head. "Would you judge me if I told you I wanted to spend the rest of our weekend in bed?"

Lisbon tugs at his lower lip gently with her teeth. Then she grins. "Well, we should probably get our money's worth," she says. "It _was_ an expensive room."

"Give me a little time to recover," he pleads. "Some of us aren't in our prime any more."

She chuckles. "Could have fooled me."

He gives her a cocky grin, but inside he is elated. It has been years, after all, since he's been with a woman. He hadn't wanted his first time with Lisbon to fall short of expectations.

She seems to know exactly what he's thinking. "Patrick," she says softly, pulling back from him and brushing his curls off his forehead. "You are everything I'd hoped." She blushes suddenly. "And more, if you must know. Please, don't worry so much."

His fingers splay across her ribcage. "And you are more than I could have dreamed," he says. "More than I deserve."

"Don't say that," she whispers, her thumb stroking his lips. "Please don't say that, Jane."

"But it's the truth. Isn't that what you always wanted from me?"

"I don't think it's the truth," she says. "I think you deserve happiness, and you deserve to be loved. Whose judgment are you going to trust—yours or mine?"

Jane looks up at her, trying to sort through every loaded word she's just spoken.

Her makeup has begun to fade, revealing the freckles that only endear her to him more completely, and her cheeks are flushed crimson.

She's stunning.

And she's right, of course.

"You," he says simply. "I trust you. I _believe_ you."

Lisbon smiles. "Good," she says. Then she moves a hand to his chest, tracing the outline of his muscles there. "Now," she begins, leaning down toward him again. "What was it you were telling me about being ungentlemanly?"

It's his turn to grin.

"How about I show you instead?"

* * *

Their limbs are still twined around each other an hour later. Jane is attempting to memorize the sound of Lisbon's even breathing.

His thumb brushes over her upper arm, forward and back and forward again, and he sees the corner of her mouth lift up.

Then she sighs. "We need to get up."

"We don't," he says. "It's only half past four. We could stay in bed for the rest of the afternoon, for the entire evening—"

She cuts him off. "You bought us tickets for a musical," she says, shifting in his arms. "And I'm guessing they were rather expensive tickets."

"Meh," says Jane, shrugging. "It's just money. I can buy the tickets again for some other day."

Lisbon rolls her eyes, but she smiles at him. "We're going to the musical, Jane."

"But I can't kiss you whenever I want if we're in a theater."

Lisbon considers this. "Yes, a fatal flaw in an otherwise perfect plan. But what if I let you hold my hand the entire time?"

Jane gives her an identical pensive look. "Hmm," he says. "I suppose that would be acceptable. Given that there would be ample opportunity after the show to make up for lost time."

"You're ridiculous, you know that?"

As she speaks, she rolls out of bed, reaching for the dress shirt he'd discarded when they'd returned to the hotel room. She slips it on, and Jane watches, entranced, as she moves back to the bed to sit down next to him.

He's floored by the intimacy of the moment. His shirt. _His_ barely-buttoned shirt, covering _h_ _er_ ivory skin. She smiles at his reaction.

"I know," Jane says, in response to her question. But it comes out a hoarse whisper. He lets his eyes wander over her shoulders, her breasts, her hips—because now he can, and he suddenly can't keep himself from looking. He inhales, not at all surprised when the breath is shaky. "I pictured this moment a thousand times," he admits, reaching over to run a finger over the collar of the shirt. He soon abandons the fabric in favor of the delicate skin of her neck.

Lisbon leans over. She kisses him.

"So did I," she says against his lips.


	25. Chapter 25

**AN: Only a couple more chapters to go! Warning: we're entering cliffhanger territory...**

* * *

After the show, they head to Rockefeller Center and catch one of the last elevators to the rooftop. Jane nudges Lisbon with his elbow as the doors open up, gesturing with his head to a nearby couple.

"What?" asks Lisbon. They move across the roof, toward the railings at the edge of the building, and Jane inserts a quarter into one of the coin operated binoculars.

"Don't look now," says Jane, glancing through the eyepiece. "But that strapping young man is about to gather up the courage to propose to his long time girlfriend."

Out of the corner of his eye, he watches as Lisbon tries not to look. She ends up glancing over at the couple anyway. "He keeps tapping his jacket pocket." She reaches over to grab Jane's forearm.

"You want to look?" asks Jane, gesturing to the binoculars with a grin, knowing she'll refuse.

Sure enough, her attention is still on the young couple.

"He's taking something out of his pocket!" whispers Lisbon excitedly, her fingers tightening on his arm.

Jane can't help but look as well. He smiles when he sees the young man drop down on one knee.

"Hardly original," says Jane lightly, "but still exceedingly romantic. I'd bet he's been saving for years between the ring and the cost of the trip."

He looks over at Lisbon, and she looks at him.

By now, most of the other tourists on the rooftop have noticed what's going on and have gathered around the couple. But Jane and Lisbon hang back.

"I hope they make it," says Lisbon. "It's just—the way he's looking at her, the way she looks at him...I just hope they last."

"They will," says Jane.

Lisbon tilts her head to the side, curious. "How do you know?"

"Will you ever stop asking me that question?" he says with feigned exasperation.

The young woman begins to nod vigorously, and the crowd cheers. Lisbon's expression becomes thoughtful. "And what about us?" she says. "Will we make it?"

Jane doesn't hesitate. "Yes," he says.

Lisbon gives him a wry smile. "How do you know?" she asks again.

This time he humors her. "Because it's you and me."

"What do you mean?"

Jane glances at the newly-engaged couple, who are now in the midst of a rather intense makeout session, before holding Lisbon's gaze.

"Because I will fight for you with every breath, with every heartbeat I have left. And because I know you will do the same for me."

She nods quickly, turning away from him to look over the city, but he catches her hand shoot up to wipe a corner of her eye. Jane leans in to kiss her temple, then he wraps his arms around her, and her back comes to rest against his chest.

Like the sparkling city before them, Jane comes alive.

* * *

They catch an early flight back to Sacramento on Monday morning. After sleeping very little the previous two nights, Lisbon immediately starts to nod off, and Jane watches, amused, as her head falls toward him before she jerks herself awake again. This happens twice more before Jane lifts the armrest between them and shifts toward her slightly, offering her his shoulder.

Lisbon doesn't pull back this time.

Jane blinks once, or so it seems, before he feels the plane descend. He blinks again, trying to dispel the bleariness in his vision. Then he smiles.

He'd fallen asleep against Lisbon, his temple resting on hers.

He kisses the side of her head before settling against her once more for the last few minutes of the flight.

* * *

They drag themselves into work immediately upon landing. Though Jane is ridiculously jetlagged, he's also riding a ridiculous high from the weekend, and he throws himself into the case the team had caught over the weekend.

With his and Lisbon's help, they get a confession by nightfall.

By unspoken agreement, they've decided to spend the night apart. They step into the elevator to make their way to the parking lot, and as the doors close, Jane reaches for Lisbon.

They part, breaths and pulses erratic, a few seconds later. "Goodnight, Lisbon," Jane whispers, stepping an appropriate distance away.

Lisbon smiles. "Thank you," she says. "This weekend…it was everything."

Jane risks giving her another peck on the lips just before the doors open.

"I love you," he says. The elevator dings.

Lisbon squeezes his hand before dropping it. Her grin is radiant. The doors open.

"See you tomorrow, Jane."

* * *

Jane paces around the apartment as the clock nears midnight, hardly daring to believe that the events of the previous weekend had actually taken place.

They'd made love.

Several times.

And they'd talked about a future—a future with _children_ , to be more specific. He's elated, and the feeling is so foreign to him that he feels simultaneously shaken and terrified at the same time.

A thought occurs to him, and he immediately freezes.

He looks up, glancing at his reflection in the ceiling-high windows overlooking the city.

The protection that Red John is offering for Lisbon, for her family, and for her team…would that protection automatically be extended to _future_ members of her family? Of their family?

Jane isn't so sure.

It would certainly be like Red John to expect some kind of payment—some kind of sacrifice—from Jane since he would technically be altering the terms of their agreement.

Jane feels sick.

Just forty-eight hours prior, he'd promised Lisbon a future—and a family. It hadn't occurred to him that he might need to ask Red John's permission to start that family. But now that the thought has entered his head, he can't get it out.

What if Carter wants something in return for ensuring the safety of Lisbon's unborn child? What if that something is something Jane can't give?

He makes eye contact with his reflection again and notices that his skin is now several shades paler. Then, as if in a trance, he watches as the man in the window reaches into his suit pocket, removes a cell phone, and flips it open.

It's Erica's voice who answers him.

"Patrick," she says. "Is everything alright?"

Jane steadies himself. "Can I speak with him?"

Erica doesn't answer right away. When she does, she sounds unsure. "I'm sorry," she says. "He cannot come to the phone right now. Is everything alright?" she asks again.

Jane has to look away from the windows. "It's not an emergency," he admits shakily.

Erica sounds legitimately concerned when she answers. "Patrick?"

"I have a question for him," says Jane. Erica remains quiet, clearly waiting for him to continue. He does, blurting out his question because he can't think of the right way to phrase it. "If I were to have a child with Lisbon, would he or she be protected by my agreement with Carter?"

Erica doesn't answer right away, and Jane immediately knows this is a bad sign. He clenches his jaw, willing the moisture that's suddenly appeared in his eyes to dissipate.

"I'm sorry, Patrick," whispers Erica finally, and she does sound genuinely apologetic. "But your negotiations included no mention of a child. If you were to have such a child, further negotiations with Red John would be required to ensure their safety."

Jane feels his fingers cramp, and he realizes that he's been clenching his hand in a fist. He makes an effort to relax.

"What would he want?"

"I'm not sure," Erica admits. "I will inquire and get back to you."

Jane nods, trying to figure out what to say. He moves to end the call.

"Wait, Patrick—"

Erica's tone is charged, an intense contrast to her solemn tone before. Jane's spine straightens in response.

"What?" he asks. He can't breathe.

"He's just returned home. Something's wrong. Hold on."

The muffled sounds of a rough male voice that Jane immediately recognizes as Carter's comes through the phone. Then there's rustling, and suddenly, Carter's voice is clear.

"Patrick?" comes the voice.

"Carter," responds Jane.

"The CBI knows you've tampered with evidence."

Jane takes several deep breaths before he regains the composure to respond. " _What?_ "

"Your rookie—Agent Barnett—is more meticulous than I had anticipated. She took notes while examining the evidence, and she realized that the planner was missing. And the last person to be seen with the planner was—"

"Me," finishes Jane. "So they're going to arrest me?"

"You're guilty of obstruction of justice," Carter reminds him.

Jane has to sit down.

"Get me out of here," he says immediately. "I can't make Lisbon arrest me. I can't make her go through that." _Neither of us would survive it_.

"I already have someone on their way," says Carter. "You held up your end of the deal. I'll hold up mine. The car will take you to my home. You have five minutes."

Jane ends the call and drops the phone into his pocket. He rushes into his bedroom, grabs his overnight bag, and then dashes to the hallway. He freezes there, looking at the picture frames which he hung there last week. He swallows and then blinks several times.

He reaches for the picture frames and stashes them in his bag. He turns to the door, opening it roughly. Then he drops the bag in surprise.

Lisbon is on the other side of the door, glaring at him over the barrel of her gun.


	26. Chapter 26

**AN: Thanks again for sticking with the story (and sorry for the cliffhanger). I'll try to update quickly to keep you guys from dangling for long!**

* * *

 _Lisbon is on the other side of the door, glaring at him over the barrel of her gun._

Jane's heart races. Then it stops altogether.

"Step outside the apartment, Jane," says Lisbon, her voice low. He does so, letting the door shut behind him. He raises his hands without thinking about it. His fingers shake, and he knows Lisbon has noticed. "Turn around," she continues.

Jane rotates slowly, almost glad to be turning away from her. The blazing intensity of her eyes terrifies him. He takes a breath.

Then the breath is knocked out of him when Lisbon pushes him roughly against the door, grabbing first his right hand and then his left and pulling them behind his back. Suddenly he can't hear anything except the blood rushing through his ears.

When he feels the cool metal of Lisbon's handcuffs around his wrists, he leans his forehead against the door.

He doesn't need to ask for the charges, and she doesn't recite them.

* * *

Jane is freezing.

He'd never noticed before, but the holding cells down in the basement of the CBI are frigid. He's pulled his suit jacket more tightly around himself and tucked his fingers underneath his armpits, but he still can't stop shivering.

To be fair, however, he thinks most of the tremors are a result of fear rather than a response to the cold.

He leans against the brick wall and slides down it, settling on the floor. Still shivering slightly, he pulls his knees to his chest, resting his elbows on his legs and his forehead on his hands.

There's no use denying it: he's terrified.

Rigsby, Cho, and Grace had met them at the entrance to the building, but Jane hadn't been able to look at his teammates when Lisbon had escorted him in. Not that he'd needed to look to know what they were thinking. He's sure Grace was holding back tears—though in twenty-four hours' time, he suspects her sadness will give way to red-hot anger. Rigsby, on the other hand, probably looked flummoxed, as though he couldn't wrap his head around the situation. And Cho—

There's a noise from the hallway, and Jane realizes the door to the corridor has been opened. A few seconds later, footsteps echo down the hall. Jane looks up from his spot on the ground as Cho approaches. He stands across from Jane, staring at him through the chain link wall.

Cho pauses slightly before sitting down, mirroring Jane's posture. He doesn't say a word.

Jane knows the interrogation technique, but he's helpless against it.

"How is she?"

Cho shrugs. "Destroyed, distraught, devastated, shattered—"

"I get it, thanks," says Jane, knowing that Cho, a walking thesaurus, could go on and on. He leans back against the wall, resting his head against the cool bricks. "And the others?"

"We don't know what to think," says Cho. "Grace stormed out of the building when she found out, and Rigsby has been staring into the refrigerator for the last ten minutes."

"And you?"

"I'm hoping you have a hell of a good reason for what you did."

Jane looks away. "I thought I did," he admits. "Maybe I was wrong."

"Why didn't you tell Lisbon? She said she couldn't get you to talk on the ride over here."

"Anything I could tell her would just hurt her more."

Cho gives him an exasperated look. Or at least Jane thinks the man is exasperated. _It's always hard to tell with Cho_ , he thinks.

"You gave him information in exchange for keeping Lisbon safe," deduces Cho.

"Not just Lisbon," says Jane. "He agreed to stay away from you, from Grace, from Rigsby. And from your families."

Jane almost swears he sees Cho's expression soften. But then the agent's face becomes unreadable once more.

"Look," Jane continues. "I don't want her to have to interrogate me, so I'll confess to you right now. The information you think I gave to Red John—well, I did. I'm guilty. But to keep Lisbon protected—to keep _all_ of you protected—I can't say any more. I'm not going to make a deal, and I don't want a lawyer. So put me in jail. _I don't care_. But besides my confession, you won't get any information out of me. Because saying anything else would be signing Lisbon's death certificate."

Cho rubs a hand over his face in frustration. He is silent for so long that Jane looks away again, dropping his forehead to his hands.

"How could you do this to yourself?" asks Cho finally. "This choice is about the cruelest form of torture I've ever seen. And I've seen a lot."

Jane looks up at him but doesn't speak.

Cho nods.

"I never had any doubts about your feelings for her," he says. "But it's reassuring to know for sure."

Jane's answer is a whisper. "I've loved Lisbon in some form since the day I met her. And I will be in love with her until the day I die. Maybe longer, if she's right about what happens after."

Cho nods again. "I know."

"Will you make sure she does, too?" Jane looks sideways, away from Cho and toward the brick wall. "I'm not sure she'll ever get to a point where she can speak to me again. And I can't say I blame her."

Cho stands up and takes two steps toward the chain link wall. "Yeah," he says. "I'll make sure she knows. Though I think she already does."

"Thank you." There's no possible way Jane can convey his gratitude to his former teammate in those two words, but he does try.

Cho seems to notice. "I'll look after her. Even if she kicks my ass for trying."

Jane can't help the small smile that tugs at his lips, but the effect is belied by the tears staining his vision. He nods, unable to respond. More tears sting his eyes, and he blinks as Cho heads down the hall.

He can no longer control his breathing, and he slips into taking short, sharp breaths. He employs every biofeedback trick he knows to prevent himself from hyperventilating.

And so, in an icy holding cell, the last pieces of his world fall apart.

* * *

He's not sure how he manages to fall asleep.

But he does, at least for a few hours. He glances at his watch at half past three in the morning after hearing the telltale sound of the door to the corridor open once more.

The door to his cell is opened by a security guard he's only seen in passing, a man he's never spoken to. Jane knows immediately that this is one of Carter's people.

Jane sits up. "You're taking me to him?"

"Would you rather stay here?"

Jane stands.

* * *

The CBI is empty at this hour, for which Jane is grateful. They cross the lobby, and Jane notices that the lights from the security cameras are still on—he wonders if tomorrow Lisbon will see footage of his escape. The thought makes him nauseous. At least now he can guarantee that he will cause her no more pain in the future.

They exit the building and slip under the cover of darkness.


	27. Chapter 27

**AN: Okay. This one is my favorite chapter. No more take-backs. Hope you enjoy it as well, and thanks for your comments/reviews!**

* * *

Six months pass.

In that time, Jane isn't allowed to leave the mansion, and it occurs to him that he is serving his prison sentence despite having broken out of CBI holding—the only thing different is the scenery. Jane thinks he would have preferred the prison cell. At least that way, he wouldn't have to quite literally face Red John day after day.

But this is part of the deal. Jane becomes Carter's right hand man, advising him in "business" ventures by serving as his personal lie detector. The crisp, designer suits that Jane finds in the closet in the room he'd been assigned become his second skin. Though he finds a bottle of hair gel in his bathroom, he refuses to touch the stuff, needing to retain at least some of the person he knew while at the CBI.

His chest physically aches for Lisbon; his hands perpetually reach out for a ghostly form that will never fully materialize. Before he falls asleep each night, he finds himself whispering to the universe, not quite praying but almost, asking for forgiveness from Lisbon.

From Charlotte.

From Angela.

He knows he won't receive it.

* * *

It is Erica's job to keep an eye on him, like some kind of perverse babysitter. She has been glued to him from the moment he crossed the threshold of the mansion six months ago, and Jane wonders if it was for precisely this reason that Red John wanted her out of prison.

If he's trying to drive Jane insane, he's succeeded.

Erica is underhandedly seductive, letting her fingers occasionally ghost across his neck or his ribs, leaning into him so that her chest brushes against his—but these touches last only fractions of a second, never longer. He'd expected her to be more obvious in her attempts to bed him, and he is so thrown that he fails to recognize for more than a month that her choice of perfume is surely deliberate.

It was Angela's favorite.

Around the same time, he notices that her shampoo is the same brand as Lisbon's.

He feels himself going mad.

* * *

The day of the half-year anniversary of his internment, Jane wakes early in the morning, once again reaching for a form beside him that is not there.

He's barely holding on now, clinging to the last shards of his sanity.

Erica comes to find him when he fails to show up for breakfast. As usual, she is already dressed to the nines. He is wearing nothing but pajama bottoms.

She rests a hand on his shoulder, coming to stand behind him while he stares out the window.

"You don't have to be alone forever, Patrick," she says, correctly interpreting his silence. " _We_ don't have to be alone." She gives him a sad smile when he glances over his shoulder at her. "I know I'm not either of them, but you can pretend if you'd like."

He turns toward her, already having made up his mind. She leans in slowly, advertising what she is about to do. Jane doesn't pull back.

She is tentative at first, but Jane is not, and her kisses quickly become infused with more passion. He pulls her toward him, running his hands over her back, the sides of her ribcage. She shivers.

And then suddenly, _she_ pulls back.

She's breathing heavily as she says, "We can't do this here, not now. The lock on your door is false." She looks at him with dark eyes. "And Red John may require us at any moment. He would not be pleased to find us together."

Jane thinks this is a rather enormous understatement, but he's more concerned that for over six months he has failed to notice his doors don't lock.

Erica leans back in to give him another quick kiss before stepping away. "He leaves at nightfall on business. Meet me in my bedroom when his car starts down the driveway."

She turns and sashays out of the room, the movement of her hips slightly more obvious than usual.

Five seconds tick by.

Then Jane smiles.

* * *

He sends one text message from the phone he'd lifted from her pocket.

* * *

Stealing the phone had been one thing. Returning it to her without her noticing is another.

But he eventually seizes his opportunity.

Erica joins him in the library an hour later. Jane makes sure his body language conveys his desperation. A second later, he has her pinned against a bookshelf, their lips melding. Her eyes roll back.

He slips a hand between her legs a second before slipping the phone into her pocket.

He muffles her moan with his mouth.

* * *

It's just past nightfall, but he makes no move to head across the mansion to Erica's room.

Standing her up should not cost him anything, he reasons. She cannot tell Carter for fear that the affair will invite retribution against her. Jane's only danger may be that she will use her connections to hurt Jane's family, with Red John unaware.

But if all goes according to plan, Lisbon and her team will not be in danger for much longer anyway. And Jane cannot bear to betray Lisbon with his body as well as his mind.

So he waits.

* * *

Forty-three minutes later, Jane watches from the window as the mansion is swarmed from all directions by men and women dressed in black getup, their Kevlar vests visible even from a distance. He can't pick out Lisbon, but he can see a fiery mass of red hair. A second later, Rigsby's bulky frame comes into view.

Jane stays by the window, watching as the chaos unfolds below him on the driveway. An ear-shattering _boom_ echoes up the stairs when the front door is blown open, and the shouts of the FBI and CBI agents make it difficult to figure out exactly what is going on.

But five minutes later, a creaking sound echoes as the door to his room opens.

Jane turns around.

* * *

 _Six months earlier_

He doesn't need to ask her for the charges. She doesn't recite them.

Lisbon's rough grip is suddenly turning him around again. His cuffed hands bang against the door of his apartment. She gets in his face, erasing all remnants of personal space, and Jane shatters.

" _Is there anyone in your apartment?_ " she hisses.

Jane shakes his head. "No," he says, but he can tell that she doesn't trust him. He holds her gaze. "I would never knowingly tell you a lie that would endanger you," he says hoarsely.

Lisbon doesn't respond. Instead, she slips a hand beneath his suit jacket, searching for his vest. Her fingers dig into the pocket there, and he feels her grab the keys to his apartment.

She holds his gaze as she reaches around him, unlocks the door, and pushes it inward. Then she pushes _him_ back. He stumbles, watching as she draws her gun again while simultaneously slamming the door behind her. Her eyes narrow at him. "Stay _right here_ ," she says, gesturing to the entryway. "If you move, I'll shoot you."

Jane doesn't doubt this.

Lisbon moves away, checking each room as she clears the apartment. A couple minutes later, she returns, holstering her gun. She grabs Jane by the arm again, her fingers digging into his flesh, and she drags him forward—down the hallway and into the main living room. When she lets go of him, he trips again, struggling to regain his balance with his hands still cuffed. He turns to look at her.

She is livid.

Jane takes a step back, wondering if sparks will fly from the electricity that seems to radiate from her.

Lisbon wastes no time in laying everything in the open. "You're Red John's man—his mole in the CBI."

Jane's response is similarly immediate. "One of them," he admits.

Each of these words seems to hit Lisbon like blows, and Jane watches as she visibly crumbles.

He can't think of anything to say.

Lisbon turns away, and Jane counts to sixty. It's the longest minute of his life.

Then Lisbon pivots back to him, taking a step nearer. She's close enough that he can see the tears building up in her eyes; as he watches, they spill over.

"How long?" she asks.

This, at least, is an easy question to answer—because he can reassure her that his betrayal is recent rather than years in the making.

"Since my kidnapping."

She nods. "I knew...I knew something else had to have happened. But I didn't want to push—I thought making you relive it would might be too traumatic." Her breaths are shaky. " _Damn it_. I should have asked." She sighs. Then she looks up at him, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Why did you do it?" she asks suddenly.

Jane's eyes go wide—he hadn't expected that question _._

He'd expected her to say _I never should have trusted you_. Or maybe _Go to hell_. Or even _Good luck in jail. You'll need it._

But she'd asked him about his motivation for working with Red John. Almost as if…she'd figured it out.

Lisbon moves closer again. "I found out barely thirty minutes ago that you've been giving Red John information. It took me about twenty-nine minutes to see past my fury—because how could this be how it actually appears?" She breathes in, clearly trying to calm herself. "And...just a few seconds ago, I realized that you would never willingly commit such an act." She crosses what is left of the distance between them and looks up at him imploringly. " _Why did you do it?_ " she asks again.

Jane hesitates. Will telling Lisbon about his deal with Red John nullify said deal?

But Lisbon takes the decision out of his hands.

"You made a deal with him, didn't you?" Lisbon whispers. "He has something you need." She searches his eyes and immediately finds the answer there. "Something involving me."

Jane squeezes his eyes shut.

"Jane," Lisbon says desperately.

"Your safety," he croaks.

He hears her sniffle, knows she's crying. "Damn it, Jane," she murmurs. "Damn it all."

He opens his eyes again, trying to pull himself together. She does the same.

"Is your apartment bugged?" Lisbon mouths, making no sound.

"No," says Jane. "I was insistent on some semblance of privacy." Jane couldn't stand the idea of Red John listening to him and Lisbon. What if he'd overhead a private conversation—or if he'd overheard them arguing...or even making love?

"So he won't know that _I_ know about your deal with him?"

"He shouldn't know. Not yet." Jane's eyes narrow. "What are you thinking?"

"We can use this."

Jane gapes at her. " _What?"_

"Jane, we can take him out for good."

Jane rattles the cuffs on his hands. "Aren't you arresting me?"

Lisbon looks away, wiping at her eyes, before she looks up at him again. "No," she whispers. "I should. Not arresting you goes against everything I stand for. But I can't help thinking...no, I _know_ that if I were in your place, I would have done exactly the same thing."

Jane can't wipe the tears on his cheeks, and they fall from his skin, landing on his suit jacket.

"So we're going to use this to our advantage," Lisbon continues.

Jane shakes his head, blinking to try to clear his vision. "There was a reason I didn't tell you about this in the first place, Lisbon. If he finds out I've double-crossed him, your family and your friends will be in danger. Lisbon, he'll kill them. I'm sure of it."

"He's not going to find out," insists Lisbon.

"Lisbon, no offence, but your acting skills leave something to be desired."

"But that's the beauty of it—I won't be acting. You've seen me do this before. I can pull it off. And I can pull it off _well_."

It takes Jane a few seconds to figure out what she's referring to, but then he remembers her brilliant ruse to catch the CBI psychiatrist. She had certainly pulled _that_ one off.

"Jane, how do we stop him?"

She's so close now that he can practically feel her warmth. He caves.

"It won't be enough to kill him," says Jane. "Or I would have tried when he kidnapped me. No, he has contingency plans for that. If he dies, you'll still be in danger because his people have orders to carry out his plans."

"So we need to take out all his people." Lisbon frowns. "You've obviously been getting close to him. How many of these people do you know?"

Jane shakes his head. "Not enough," he admits. "I was only at his home for a few days—I didn't have time for surveillance."

"Could you get the names if you had more time?"

He hesitates. "I think so." When he meets her eyes again, he suddenly becomes sure. "No, I _know_ I can."

"So you need more time. In Red John's lair."

He almost protests at her wording but decides he can't. It is, after all, accurate.

" _A lot_ more time," he corrects.

"How much?"

He knows she won't like his answer, but he's done lying to her. "Give me six months. If I haven't contacted you by then…" He trails off.

"Is one of his men coming to collect you? I'm assuming since you're working for him, he'll want to keep you out of jail."

"Yes," says Jane. "But I can hardly go with them now that you're here—you've probably been captured on security footage. Your presence here will look suspicious." An idea occurs to him. "You have to arrest me."

He had expected her to be surprised, but she just nods. "His men will break you out?"

"They'll have to—to ensure that I don't talk. But for them to believe that you actually arrested me—that I'm still holding up my end of the agreement I made with Red John—you'll have to make it clear that I've..."

"Broken my heart?" Lisbon supplies.

Jane's own heart breaks at this. "Somehow," he whispers, "I don't think that will be too much of a problem for you."

Lisbon changes the subject slightly. "I'm supposed to let you out of my sight for _six months_?" she asks.

Jane moves to pull her into his arms, but his hands are still cuffed behind his back. He groans.

"I'll need time to get the names," he says. "And I'll need more time to get the information to you since they'll be watching me. I have to be cautious, Lisbon. Because I won't get another chance. _We_ won't get another chance."

Lisbon ducks her head, and Jane thinks she's trying to compose herself again.

"I hate that you didn't tell me this right away," says Lisbon, finally lifting her gaze to his. "We could have worked something out. This was…this was so unnecessarily, ridiculously reckless. I hope you know that."

"I know," says Jane. "But I also know it was the only option."

"I disagree."

"Well, we'll have to agree to disagree on that."

"My point is that I don't think I can forgive you for this."

Jane takes a shaky breath. He always knew somehow that he'd be the biggest challenge to Lisbon's seemingly unbreakable capacity for forgiveness. He just didn't think he'd be the one to break it. "I don't expect you to," he says eventually.

Lisbon leans her head against his chest. "But God help me," she whispers. "I still love you."

For the second time that night, Jane's heart stops. "You…you do?" he asks.

It's the first time she's said so in as many words.

Lisbon nods, leaning into him. "I do." She looks up at him, lifting a hand to his cheek, and she kisses him lightly. "Be careful, Jane. Just…please be careful."

"I'll come back to you, Lisbon. I promise."

"I hope you're right," she says. She brushes her bangs out of her eyes. "We should get going," she says, her voice just above a whisper.

Jane tugs at the cuffs again. He sighs, exasperated. "Lisbon," he pleads. "Take these off. I'm asking for two minutes. Please."

She considers this for a few seconds before caving, stepping behind him to bring the key to the cuffs, which fall to the floor.

Jane turns and brings his hands up to frame Lisbon's face. Then he kisses her soundly.

And suddenly, for a brief moment, an instant, they are no longer two people. They are a conundrum, two masses occupying the same space. They defy logic and the very laws of nature.

Jane pulls back slightly. "I love you," he whispers. "I'm in love with you. I always will be. Don't ever forget that."

Lisbon nods. "I won't. I can't." She is no longer crying.

Jane, however, is far past weepy.

Lisbon stretches up on her toes to kiss him one last time. "I love you, too."

Jane leans down to rest his forehead against hers.

Then Lisbon pulls away. Jane moves his hands behind his back once more, and the metal cuffs click back into place.

* * *

 _Present day_

Jane turns.

Lisbon stands in the doorway, her gun raised. She quickly lowers it.

Jane breaths for the first time in sixth months.

" _Lisbon_ ," he whispers. "You got the text?"

She gives him a wry smile. "Obviously."

"And?"

"We're in the process of tracking down every person on the list you sent me. We have a pretty good idea where everyone is, if they're not in custody already."

"Red John?"

"We stopped the car that left here a few minutes before we stormed the place. Cho's personally watching Red John."

Jane's legs buckle underneath him, and Lisbon is at his side in an instant, taking his weight before he can tumble to the floor.

"It's over?" he asks weakly.

"It's over," she confirms.

They sink to the ground, her arms wrapped around his torso, and he begins to sob onto her shoulder.


	28. Chapter 28

**AN: Wow. I can't believe we're really here. Thank you all for following along on this journey. It'll probably be a while until I decide to do another multichapter (and when I do, it'll be much shorter and less angsty), but I'll definitely be posting oneshots here and there. If you have requests, let me know!**

 **Hope you enjoy this final chapter. The epilogue will be posted soon!**

 **I also blatantly borrowed a line from _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_ by JK Rowling.**

* * *

Jane loses track of reality for what feels like several hours but is probably closer to several minutes. The whole time, Lisbon kneels beside him, her hand rubbing gently on his back. He can't make out what she's saying, but her voice is soothing, and the sound and feel of her tethers him.

Eventually, Lisbon shifts, moving her arms to cradle his head against her chest. She kisses his temple, and Jane feels his tunnel vision fade. He feels himself stop shaking, and Lisbon pulls back enough so that he can get a good look at her.

"Hi," Jane says.

Lisbon opens her mouth to respond, but tears spill over from her eyes instead. She wipes her cheeks.

" _Lisbon_ ," says Jane. He treats her name as though it is sacred, as though she is someone to be worshipped.

"You're okay," Lisbon murmurs, reaching up to touch her fingertips to his jaw, his forehead, his chin.

"Always the tone of surprise," he responds, and he manages to smile softly at her.

She laughs through her tears. "I was so worried."

He doesn't know what to say to that, so he doesn't say anything.

Her thumb brushes over his eyebrow, sweeping around to wipe the moisture at the corner of his eye. Then she pulls him toward her again, tucking his head beneath her chin, and she rocks them both back and forth on the floor. He hears the almost imperceptible sound of sniffling and realizes it's coming from him.

"My knight in shining armor," says Jane, finding her hand and squeezing it.

"You do seem to require a lot of rescuing."

"And I wouldn't trust anyone but you to do so."

She just holds him tighter.

After another minute or so, Lisbon speaks again. "Let's get you out of here," she whispers, standing up and pulling him with her. He realizes with a start that she'd easily supported all his weight.

He thinks he shouldn't be so surprised. She's essentially been doing the same since the very beginning.

Lisbon reaches out to him and straightens his jacket. Her expression changes for a millisecond, and then suddenly she's unreadable.

"What is it?" he asks, concerned.

Her eyes take him in and then flash up to meet his own. "They dressed you like…"

He nods. "Like I was before," he confirms, his voice low. "When I was a psychic."

Lisbon takes a shallow breath. Jane steps back from her and shrugs out of his jacket, letting it fall to the floor.

"Hold on," he says, and he moves to the walk-in closet. He has to search for a minute or two before he finds what he's looking for—the suit he'd worn the night he'd arrived at the mansion. He hasn't worn it since, but like the rest of his clothing, it had been dry-cleaned and hung back up in the closet after he'd tossed it on the floor.

Jane quickly discards his current clothing in favor of the familiar suit. He pulls the pressed pants up and is reaching for the shirt as Lisbon walks around the corner. She grabs the shirt before he can.

She stares at him, taking in his bare skin and his pallid complexion. He knows he's lost weight, just like he knows that his skin is several shades lighter than it had been when Lisbon had seen him last. She walks to him and threads his arms through the sleeves. A minute later, her steady fingers have buttoned the shirt and moved to reach for the vest.

When he slips on the jacket, Lisbon leans toward him and wraps her arms around his torso.

But she pulls away quickly, reaching for his hand to drag him after her. "Come on," she says.

He follows.

* * *

When they descend the stairs, the SAC from the FBI immediately separates them. Though Jane had expected this, he still feels like his body is being torn in half when Lisbon is led away.

"You'll see her in a bit," says a voice, and Jane turns around to find himself face to face with Rigsby. "The FBI has to keep you apart until you've both given your statements."

Jane nods—or he begins to, but suddenly he is thrown backward by a blow to his upper jaw. He doubles over, wheezing, and his hands go to his nose. He feels warm liquid flow onto his hands.

" _You bastard._ "

Jane is suddenly grateful that his vision is swimming—the fire in front of his eyes tells him that Grace had been the dealer of the blow, and he'd rather not be on the receiving end of whatever look she's giving him. He hears Lisbon in the distance, yelling for him in concern, but her voice disappears after a few seconds, and Jane thinks she's been led out of the house.

" _You asshole_. Do you have any idea what you've done to her—what you've done to us?"

Rigsby steps between Jane and Grace.

"Grace—we've been over this," says Rigsby, and Jane tries to breathe through his mouth since his nose doesn't seem to be functioning. "Jane did what he did to save us—to save Lisbon."

"Yeah, well, saving us doesn't make him _less of an asshole!"_

" _Grace!_ "

"Let me go, Wayne!" Though Jane's vision is still blurry, he can vaguely make out Rigsby pulling Grace away from the staircase. "Damn it! Jane, I am _so_ not through with you yet!"

An FBI agent hands Jane a handkerchief, but as he's reaching out to take it, the world goes dark.

* * *

Jane wakes to pain.

He groans, afraid to move.

"Take this."

Jane opens one eye to see Cho standing over him, his hand extended, two pills in his palm. Before Jane can protest, Cho slips a hand underneath Jane's upper back and lifts his torso.

"Open up."

Jane obeys. Suddenly, a glass of water touches his lips, and he swallows some to down the pills.

"The rest, too," says Cho. "You lost a lot of blood."

Jane decides not to argue. If he had, Cho probably would have just forced the water down his throat.

"I thought you were watching Carter," says Jane as Cho lowers him back down.

"Lisbon's heading over to interview him now," says Cho. "And before you ask, you have been banned by pretty much every law enforcement agency from having anything to do with his case ever again, so—no, you cannot join the interrogation."

Jane closes his eyes against a wave of nausea.

"Van Pelt did a number on you," says Cho.

Jane groans again.

"You were lucky Rigsby was there to stop her." His tone suggests he would have let Grace continue.

"Grace is a force to be reckoned with," says Jane proudly.

Cho sighs. "She'll come around."

"So you have already? Come around, that is."

Jane can practically hear Cho's shrug in his voice as he answers. "My loyalty is with Lisbon. And for whatever reason, her loyalty is with you."

"That means a lot, Cho. Thanks."

Jane cracks open an eye and swears he catches the corner of Cho's mouth twitch up in response to his sarcasm.

"Where are we?" asks Jane.

"Visitor lounge at the San Francisco field office of the FBI. They're currently processing everyone we found at the mansion."

"Does that include me?"

Cho takes so long to answer that Jane finally opens both eyes.

"What?" he asks.

"Lisbon went to bat for you," Cho says. "She risked a hell of a lot to keep the FBI—and the CBI—from pressing charges. She convinced them that you'd served your time, that the mansion was more of a sentence to you than jail would ever be."

Jane tries to take a steadying breath and fails miserably.

"Plus, you gave us over a hundred names," continues Cho.

"One right doesn't correct a thousand wrongs." Jane closes his eyes again, feeling bile rise in his throat. He wonders if the nausea or his self-loathing is to blame.

"No," agrees Cho. "It doesn't. But fortunately for you, you've done a hell of a lot more right than you have wrong. And Lisbon agrees."

"Thank you for looking after her."

He hears Cho sit down in the chair next to the couch.

"You were looking out for her, too," Cho points out. He sighs. "Look, the FBI and CBI need a statement from you."

"You offering to dictate?"

"All you'll have to do is sign once we're done."

"Deal."

The chair creaks as Cho moves, and Jane imagines him leaning over to grab a paper and pen. "Go ahead," says Cho.

Jane rattles off some words, most of which he's not completely sure form coherent sentences. But five minutes later, Cho hands him the paper and points to the line where his signature is required. Jane grabs the pen and scribbles something resembling a _P_ and a _J._

"Get some sleep, Jane. It's going to be a long night—we'll be here for a while."

Jane doesn't need to be told twice.

* * *

Lisbon opens the door. Her heels click against the floor as she walks.

If she's being honest with herself, she always thought she'd be able to treat the interrogation of Red John like any other. She'd remain impartial, detached, calm.

But all she feels now as she sits across from Timothy Carter in the cramped, too bright interrogation room is hatred.

The emotion is all-consuming. She feels it in every cell of her body. She drowns in it.

Carter gives her a smile.

"It's an honor," he says, "to finally meet you. I never thought I'd have the chance, you see." He shrugs. "But you, more than any other woman, have occupied my thoughts for the better part of the past year. Meeting you almost makes up for my current…predicament."

Lisbon shivers, though she tries to hide all outward signs of it.

"With a mistress like Erica, your attention should have been captured elsewhere."

"Ah," says Carter. "But you are forgetting one very important detail. You are, after all, the woman who had the potential to single-handedly make or break my empire."

"Meaning that I am one of Jane's weaknesses."

"You're his _only_ weakness," corrects Carter. "And, interestingly enough, Patrick proved more easy to read and more easy to manipulate than yourself." He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. "I always built in contingency plans for the occasion when I would eventually underestimate him, but it turns out I would have better used my time preparing to deal with you."

Lisbon's eyes narrow. "What do you mean?"

"I underestimated not Patrick, but you," Carter says simply. "I never planned on you taking him back. I did not think it possible for a woman to love a man who has betrayed her. Clearly, I was wrong."

"Jane didn't betray me." Lisbon feels a dull ache begin to spread throughout her lower back. She's spent too much time today sitting uncomfortably, or on her feet—and the stress of the last six months isn't doing her any favors.

"Just because his intentions were to protect you does not excuse his actions," says Carter sharply. "He betrayed you to save you."

Lisbon takes a moment to compose herself.

"The FBI has forbidden Jane from interrogating you," says Lisbon. "I can't say I'm surprised, given the circumstances." She leans forward to mirror Carter's posture. "He would want to ask you if you were sorry. Jane would want to know if you regretted the murder of his wife, Angela, and his daughter, Charlotte. And I want to know if you regret the murder of my brother, Stan."

Carter seems to ponder this; it takes him over a minute to begin speaking.

"It was a thrilling game," is all he says.

Lisbon stares at him, one eyebrow raised.

"I am satisfied," says Carter. "I pushed boundaries like they had never been pushed before. My influence was extensive. In fact, I'd say that my influence continues to be extensive. But do I regret the murders of Angela, of little Charlotte, and of Stan? No, I cannot say that I do. They led me to Patrick and to you—and the two of you pushed me farther than I believed possible. I am what I am because of you."

Lisbon cannot stand to hear any more.

She gets to her feet, feeling the hatred threaten to overwhelm her once more.

But then the image of Angela and Charlotte—the photograph that she'd framed for Jane—appears in her mind. She thinks of the little girl, of her innocent laughter.

She thinks of Angela's infectious smile.

She thinks of Stan's understanding gaze.

And Lisbon thinks of Jane, who bartered away his own soul to save her.

And suddenly the feeling of hatred is gone.

"I trust the system," says Lisbon. "I would bet my life on it. Day after day. And once you get into the system, you will not get out. That's not a threat; it's a promise." She takes a breath. "You will die there. You may spend a few years rotting away on death row, but the end result will be the same. And once I walk out of this room, you won't be able to steal any more of my time. I'm taking it back. And I'm taking back Patrick's life. So I want you to think about that: every day that you spend wasting away, Jane and I will spend coming alive."

And without another look at him, Lisbon exits the interrogation room, and the sound of the door slamming behind her echoes in her wake.

* * *

Lisbon steps into the darkened FBI visitor lounge with a bag of ice in hand, trying to dull the sound of her heels against the tile floor. Cho nods at her and slips out the door silently, and Lisbon's eyes are immediately drawn to the couch.

She can't help smiling at Jane's prone form. She's transported back a million memories ago, and image after image of Jane sleeping on his brown leather couch flashes through her mind. She crosses the room in three long strides and sits on the edge of the couch, her hand reaching over to brush Jane's curls away from his forehead.

His eyes flash open.

"Lisbon?"

She smiles at him. "I brought you some ice," she says.

"You're a saint," he murmurs, and she wraps the plastic bag in a washcloth before touching it gingerly to his nose. He winces slightly before relaxing. "How bad does it look?"

"I was told the EMT had to reset it," Lisbon says. "You don't remember?"

"Not a thing," says Jane. "I've been a bit stressed out recently. Took its tool on my body, apparently, because I was out once I crashed." He looks at her more closely. "You spoke with him?"

Lisbon nods. "I did."

"What did he say?"

"I recorded the entire exchange. You can listen to it later. But don't expect to be satisfied with anything you hear from him."

"He's in your custody. That's all the satisfaction I need." His hand searches for hers.

Lisbon looks at him curiously. "You mean that." She rubs the back of his hand. "You once told me that you would cut him up, that he was yours. Why'd you change your mind?" She shifts the ice pack to the other side of his nose.

"It was more of a change of heart than a change of mind," says Jane quietly. "If I had him, I couldn't have you. And you became infinitely more important."

Lisbon mulls over her response before she speaks. "You have no idea what it means to me to hear you say that," she says finally.

He reaches up to grab her arms, pulling her down to him. Lisbon kisses him tentatively once, twice, and then shifts, moving over his body to settle between him and the back of the couch. The bag of ice falls to the floor.

"Thank you for trying to save me," whispers Lisbon. A thought occurs to her, and she amends her statement. "Thank you for _saving_ me."

Instead of answering, he pulls her closer.


	29. Chapter 29

**AN: Thank you all for sticking with this story til the end. What a ride.**

* * *

It's just past seven in the morning.

The winter sky is still dark—but only just, and the sun is due to rise at any moment. Jane's in his pajamas, sitting cross-legged on the ground, staring out the window of his apartment. He rubs at his eyes.

Jane had thought that sleep would come easily to him after six months of restless nights. And though he _is_ exhausted, he still feels haunted—he has yet to sleep soundly despite the passing of one week's time since Red John's capture. If he's being honest with himself, he hasn't been able to keep his eyes shut for fear of what he may see. He sighs, reminding himself once again that peace will come with distance.

He hopes it will, at any rate.

A warmth suddenly descends on Jane's upper back. He jumps before realizing that Lisbon has draped a blanket over his shoulders.

"Hey," she says.

"Good morning," he says. "How are you?"

She ignores this. "You didn't sleep, did you?"

He sighs. "Not a wink."

Lisbon sits down beside him, the length of her arm resting against his. He opens the blanket so that she can scoot underneath it as well. She leans her head against his shoulder, and they both look out across the city, watching droplets of rain chase each other down the windowpane.

"You stayed here occasionally," notes Jane. "When I was gone, that is."

He feels her shrug. "It seemed like the thing to do."

"What if someone had seen you?"

"I'm sure they did. But everyone knew how I felt about you—it wouldn't have been unreasonable for me to be in mourning of the relationship I'd lost. Of the relationship _we'd_ lost." She shrugs. "If I'd really arrested you, I would have tried to get over you. I'm not sure I would have succeeded."

Jane grabs her hand, resting their twined fingers on his thigh.

"Plus," adds Lisbon. "You had a lot of tea here."

Jane glances at her out of the corner of his eye, not sure where she is going with this.

Lisbon rolls her eyes. "You're going to make me say it aloud?"

"Uh, yes, considering I have no idea what you're talking about."

Lisbon ducks her head. Jane watches as a blush creeps up her neck. "It tasted like you," she whispers.

"Ah," says Jane.

A beat passes.

"I missed you, too, my dear," Jane whispers. Then he smiles. "And that explains why I was unable to find any teabags here. I thought I'd left the place stocked."

Lisbon laughs, and Jane joins her.

"Welcome home," Lisbon says, and Jane is reminded of when she'd said the same words to him several months ago.

He takes a deep breath, plunging into the blue. "Would you like to call this your home as well?" he asks in a rush.

Lisbon turns to him, her eyes wide. "Are you asking me if..."

"Yes," he says firmly. "Of course. A thousand times over."

She stares at him for a few seconds before she nods, unable to speak. Jane wraps an arm around her, and they remain there, just being.

"I've been living here on and off for six months," Lisbon suddenly admits. "But I was never able to call it home because you weren't here."

The sun breaks over the horizon, flooding the room in a soft orange glow, and they take in the city below them, the roads already packed with cars.

Jane is suddenly thoughtful.

"Life is such madness," he says, gesturing with his hand to the sprawling city. Lisbon lifts her head to get a better look at his face. Jane continues. "Life is chaos, really, and yet—somehow, we found each other. We made order out of chaos." He turns his head to meet her eyes. "How?"

Lisbon stands up and offers him her hands. He reaches for her, and she pulls him up.

"Some things," she says, "we're not meant to figure out completely. That question is one of them."

He leans over to kiss her. Then he pulls back slightly, only to wrap his arms around her. "Love you," he says.

Her arms encircle his torso. "I love you, too," she exhales. Then she rises on her toes, brushes a kiss to his forehead, and steps around him, reaching out for his hand as she does so. "Come back to bed?"

Jane nods, and Lisbon leads him forward once more.


End file.
